The North
by GodricRitter
Summary: I wrote this fan-fiction because I thought that season 5 was decent but not good enough compared to the others. I do like certain character and event changes but some are nonsensical. I decided to try my hand at what season 5 should've been like. You'll notice that I've mixed things from the books and show and that this story will only cover the events in the north.
1. Chapter 1

Jon

The banners of the dancing stag within the flaming heart hung from every corner of Castle Black. It was night now and the stars hung in the air like a million white fireflies, high, high in the sky. There was a slightly chilly breeze in the air, but it wasn't anything Jon wasn't already used to. Here on the earth, men crowded the castle and were bunched up together like penned in sheep. Men, no matter if they were wildlings, King's Men, Queen's Men or Night's Watch were standing, sitting right in the yard, looking through windows or taking a place on the steps to watch the gruesome spectacle. Ser Allisar Thorne and Lord Janos were a head of him. Edd stood at his left and ghost was at his right. Many other Night's Watch men were behind him and around him. Sam and Gilly were sitting at the steps to the main hall.

The King was to the far left of him on his own horse. He wore a long, heavy, thick bear skin cape and wore an intricate chain mail armor that bore the flaming, dancing stag right on his chest. With him was his daughter Princess Shireen, his Hand the Onion knight and his wife, one of the most unattractive woman he had ever seen, Queen Selyse.

To the far right of Jon were the captured wildlings and giants that had bent the knee to King Stannis and given themselves to the Red God. They appeared frightened, cold and traumatized. _These are a desperate people_. Their best clothing was the ragged furs from underfed bears, mammoths, wolves and shadow cats. Their weapons nothing better than rocks strung to twigs, or at best a club or a dull sword. They seemed sullen, broken and dejected. They were all leaning on one another as none had the strength to stand straight and bear witness to what would happen next. Their cause was over, their lives were in service to a King they didn't know, fighting under a God they didn't truly accept. In a way Jon pitied them, but it wasn't like the King didn't make a fair offer. He would have them as citizens of the realm and settled on lands on The Gift if they fought for him.

In the center was a wooden platform with a solitary wooden stake in the middle. Jon was aware of the King's plan, but he had never seen a man be burned alive before. Nor did he wish to. _Mance's life was forfeit the second he left the wall, and when he became King-beyond-the-wall, he had chosen to become the Night's Watch greatest enemy._

Or was he? Jon would still have occasional nightmares of the wights that attacked the Old Bear in the night, or what Sam told him about the white walkers in general. One story that Sam told him in particular about the Night King was worrying. A former member of House Stark, he was a Lord Commander of the Night's Watch until he married an Other. He gave her his seed, and she took his soul. He ruled as a sort of King until he was defeated by a champion some eight thousand years ago. No one in the Night's Watch knew very much about the Others, not even Maester Aemon who must have read countless books before he was blind. _Sam must found it under a mountain of old tomes then._ The Night King may be dead, but then again, everyone thought that all the Others were dead too. So much so that they had fallen out of existence and into myths and stories. _But they were only sleeping, and now they're back._ Jon shivered and the night felt colder in that one second of realization.

Ghost took notice of his discomfort and looked back at him, tongue lapping and reds eyes glaring. His eyes were a sizzling red. A red as bright as fresh blood, a red as bright as the flowing skirts of the Red Woman.

 _Who is this woman, truly?_ Jon had heard that she was a shadow binder from Asshai. But what did she want of Stannis? What use could he have of her? She had no blood relation to the King, she was no kin and yet they were always next to each other. Shoulder to shoulder. The Red Woman was comely however, Jon had to admit, but Stannis was too hard of a man to take a mistress. Her skin was a pale as the moon, she was thin and slender and wore a red amulet around her throat. Her frame was thin but well-shaped and her hair was done all the way to elbows and was as red as fire. _Just like Ygritte's,_ Jon thought grimly.

The yard was alive with whispers and murmurs until the King's Squire, the Onion Lord's son, blew the trumpet. The talking ceased and the drums began to beat.

"Doom, boom, doom, boom, doom" Over and over again.

Out from the Castle Black prison came two knights of the King, and in the middle was the battered King beyond the wall. If sullenness was personified, it was him. He limped forward slowly and miserably. His head never looked up from the ground and he begrudgingly took one step at a time to his doom. He seemed thinner and much weaker than before. Captivity had not been kind to him. His hair was messy, and he was shuddering and shivering. _It isn't the cold that makes him shake so much, it's the fire._ He shared a quick glance with Jon and at one moment their eyes locked. A bastard and a beaten King. _This is a cruel way to die._ Jon knew Mance as a prideful man, a man who wouldn't give up the freedom of his people. They wanted be free. But that was a folly. The wildlings lacked discipline, proper swordsmanship, organization and morale. Only their desperation to flee from the terrors further up North had kept them together, otherwise they would all be at each other's throats. And now they had been beaten, badly. A King with a force the size of a garrison guarding a mill defeated an army of wildlings. Stannis' cavalry attack had shattered them and with no quick way to re-assemble and strike, Stannis' army cut through. And now Mance was a prisoner, a King of the Cell. A King within the Wall. A King who lost. His people were not free, not as free as they had wanted to be and he had let them down. He had failed them. But worst of all to him, he lost his wife and he could not be a father to his son. Jon could pity him there. He knew what it felt like to lose someone he loved. _My father, my brothers, my sister and Ygritte._ It was a painful thought.

Jon never knew how much one glance, even a brief one, could bring out so much emotion. So much sadness, so much despair. _Winter is coming._ Both of them had suffered. Jon was rejected and reviled as bastard in his own home and now he was reviled and rejected by some of the men here. But in Winterfell he was a bastard, now he was a man of the Night's Watch in the presence of a King. But he could not feel too much pity for the broken King beyond the wall. After all, at one point Mance Rayder was and is his enemy. Jon looked around at all the Night's Watch men. _They would all be dead if it wasn't for Stannis._ _I would be dead if it wasn't for Stannis._

Mance was thrown to the ground in front of the King. The King whipped out Lightbringer from his scabbard.

"Look at me." King Stannis said in his dull tone.

Mance Rayder looked up at Stannis. He seemed to have aged tenfold, wrinkles and folds ruled his face. He seemed so tired, so beaten, so broken. But that was the price of defeat.

King Stannis urged his tall black destrier forward to the side of Mance Rayder. He lowered Lightbringer to Mance's throat. "I, King Stannis of the House Baratheon, the First of my name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First men, King of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm, in the sight of the Lord of Light, do hereby sentence you death by fire at the stake. Your crime is breaking your oath to the sworn order of the Night's Watch. You are guilty of desertion against the order and treason against the citizens of the realm. _My_ realm. Before you are put to the stake, are there any last words you would like to say?"

"This realm is not yours, nor is it mine. It belongs to no one. These people have as much right to walk lands below the wall as much as you do. All we wanted was our freedom. I failed, and put my people into slavery."

"They are enslaved only to the point of loyalty, trust and obedience. Like any true man would and should me. They will do their duty to serve me when I call, and I will do mine's to protect them."

"They owe no duty to you. They kneeled only because they were afraid."

"They kneeled because I saved them."

"Yes, you saved them, but only to be used as pawns for your personal ambitions." The-King-beyond-the-wall said bitterly.

"I did save them. Everyone here knows that there is a greater threat to us here than just my rivals, who I will crush." The King said in a tone that brooked inevitability. There!" The King exclaimed raising his hand, pointing to the wall. "There, beyond this wall are our true enemies. My true enemies. Demons of ice and snow, the terrors that loom for centuries, the mythical abominations. After I sweep Westeros clean of pretenders and thieves, murderers and monsters I will ride here to the wall, with all the realm's strength and fulfill my ultimate duty. My prophecy." King Stannis responded.

 _He's not wrong._ Mance whispered quietly to him. "I wish then, good fortune for you, in the wars to come."

The King responded without revealing any emotion on his face. He answered coolly. "It is not good fortune I need. It is the realm." And with that he gestured that his footmen pick him up from the ground and take him to the pyre where Melisandre was waiting. As the footmen were at work tying him up the Red woman began to pray loudly.

"Lord of Light! Lord of Life! We thank you for the Sun that warms us, that gives us hope! That gives us light! Let the radiance of light cleanse the land, cleanse it of darkness and cold and death! We thank you lord for your warmth and your strength that guides us and protects us! Lord of Light keep us and guard us, watch and love your faithful children. Accept this offering oh lord, a rival to our King and champion, the man born from salt and smoke, the man who brings light and hope and life to his realm, a man who is Azor Ahai reborn again! This rival is a pretender and a liar! Wildlings! Look at your King, look at the one who deceived you! There is only one God, one realm and one King! One champion with one purpose! See now what happens to those who oppose the light, who serve darkness, who deal with demons and worship false gods! Wildlings upon this demon! This enemy of the light! Keep to your champion Stannis, to your true God R'hollor! For the night is dark and full of terrors!"

"FOR THE NIGHT IS DARK AND FULL OF TERRORS!" The Queen's men bellowed in reply.

The red woman took the torch in her hand and the footmen walked off with Mance Rayder firmly tied to the stake. She dipped the torch into the platform. First sparks and embers, then flames. They were slithering, crawling around the beaten King. They were taunting him, flaunting his inevitable destruction. At the stake he didn't seem tired, nor sad, nor beaten nor down. He looked alive. Alert. Terrified. His brow formed a lake of sweat and his breathing was panicked. _I will scatter his ashes beyond the Wall when this is over. A proper burial. It's what he would've wanted._ The temperature was rising around the doomed King. He was struggling at the stake, moving frantically, anything to avoid the heat, the pain. The stake rattled and shook, he wished to break free. To escape the searing pain. Jon saw Mance's sister in law Val in the crowd. She was crying hysterically. He had enough. The flames had touched every part of the platform, but the King, and now they were leaping towards him like a lion after their prey. His feet were burning from under him, he let out a horrific shriek. Jon felt wrong to disobey the King, especially one who he owed his life to, but he had to defy him. Just once. Just this one time. Thinking quickly, Jon slipped away from Edd and Ghost and from the rest of the men, crept over to a weapon's rack, picked up a bow and some arrows, held his breathe, took his aim and fired. Sparing the King-beyond-the-wall from pain. Mance's eyes widened in surprise as he saw the tail end of the arrow out from his chest and blood trickle from his wound, he closed his eyes as the fire engulfed him. Jon closed his eyes as well and breathed out in relief. Jon did not even think to look at Stannis, nor the Red Woman, the Queen or his Onion Lord.

The fire convulsed and sizzled, fused within itself, moving and twisting like a creature. It spread itself over the dead King. The red of the flames sparked and sizzled crunching and devouring its prey. The mighty blaze let out its roar. The Queen's men bellowed in their devotion to the might of the fire. "Rhollor!" or "Lord of Light!" "Vanquish the Darkness!" were common cries of adoration amongst the group.

The wildlings were still as a frightened fawn and quiet as a mouse. Never had Jon seen a group of people so tired, so hopeless.

Some men of the Night's Watch nodded their heads in approval at the fire. Jon could understand that, many men suffered or knew others who had suffered from the wildlings. Mance was a symbol of their villainy, Jon supposed. Jon turned over his left shoulder where the normally displeased, unimpressed and generally unpleasant facial expressions of Ser Allisar and his lap-dog, the renowned, _former,_ commander of the city watch Janos Slynt looked back at him. Jon had not forgotten the abuse he had taken from the two. He had not forgotten how Ser Allisar had called him a traitor's bastard the day his father was captured, or when the both conspired to have him killed for desertion. They had locked him in an ice cell and tried to force him to murder a man under a banner of peace, under the tent where his own wife was birthing his only son. And Janos Slynt…the man who helped murder his father. Jon had a hatred for him too. But as loath as he was to admit it, they were both men of the Night's Watch, his _brothers._

Jon averted his stare and looked over his right shoulder to see Bowen Marsh staring intently into the fire. Jon turned his head to the stairs to Sam and Gilly and the babe. They all seemed uneasy and scared.

Meanwhile Val had fainted to the ground and had been carried by the Onion lord back to her quarters.

The fire paid none of them any mind, it crackled loudly, bellowing like some hell beast. It ballooned and roared at the wildings, the flaming stag banners, the Night's Watch, the King's Men and the Queen's men. The fire cast its eerie red light on them, all of them. Jon saw the red light cover Melisandre making her formerly pale-moon white skin seemed every bit as scarlet as the skirts she wore. She looked so red in fact that it seemed like she was a woman sculpted out of magma. The red light bathed Queen Selyse as well as she sat back on her steed with her eyes closed and her hairy lips curled up in a smile. She seemed to enjoy every minute of the spectacle. Shireen was at her father's side caked in the fire red light. She seemed particularly terrified of the fire as the tears were streaming down her cheeks. She was shaking in her saddle. Finally Jon shared a long and hard glance with King Stannis as well. The red light had not spared him either. From the hoof of his horse to the top of his crown, Stannis was overcome with the red light. His glare at Jon was unyielding, grim and cold. Jon's was the same, except on the inside he felt like he was made of jelly instead of Stark. Jon couldn't tell if the King was angry, only that the King would not shift the stare from him and that he did not blink. They stared and stared and stared until finally Stannis sheathed his magic sword, patted his daughter's head in an oddly soft manner, nodded curtly at Jon and wheeled his horse away from the fiery platform. Jon shared another gaze with Melisandre until she mounted and rode away and then Jon shared another gaze with the great red beast itself. He felt stronger than the fire monster. _I am the son of Eddard Stark, a man of the Night's Watch and I have the blood of the North._ The fire answered with a bellow, as if to mock Jon's confidence. Ghost could sense his unease again. But there was no need to fear. It was just fire. Or was it? But suddenly he felt uneasy, at first he did not know why. But then he noticed that the red light was covering him as well, bathing him in scarlet and heat.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa

They had been travelling for days in their black carriage. The inside was inlaid with red velvet and crimson curtains. Images of the mocking bird, Lord Baelish's sigil, were engraved in the carriage and inlaid with gold. They were escorted by a retinue of knights, some twenty and five with banners of the falcon streaming from their lances. The going was slow. They had departed from the Eyrie, what was it now? At least two weeks ago, but Sansa could not tell whether they were riding east, north or south. Littlefinger would not tell her. After they had left sweet Robin to be Lord Royce's ward, Littlefinger cheerfully remarked that wedding arrangements had been approved. _Which wedding arrangements he did not say._

Sansa did not appreciate the secrecy about it all, she hated being left in the dark about things conspiring around her. Not that it mattered to Littlefinger. When Sansa had first asked him he had only said "Ah, sweetling you worry too much. Enjoy the long carriage ride and let Uncle Petyr handle the rest." _Fine._ Sansa thought frustrated.

Littlefinger was looking out the window and the rolling fields outside the window. He was something of a stone statue in that carriage. For almost four hours he had looked outside that window, staring and thinking. _What was he thinking?_ He had not spoken once nor had he averted his stare down with the countryside. He was leaned over with his head resting on his fist, planning and plotting. Outside the sun was retiring and behind the horizon and dark clouds were overhead.

Suddenly, the carriage had come to a stop.

"Lord Baelish!" A knight from their column called out. "We've arrived!"

Littlefinger nodded and smiled at her. "We're here Sweetling."

"Where?" Sansa inquired.

"You'll see." He extended his hand to her and as he opened the door he led her out. They were on a Cliffside, a massive one, overlooking the vast expense of lands before them. It was windy and the banners of the falcon were flapping and snapping as were her skirts. The grass was green but the ground was frozen. Snowflakes descended on them, zipping around them and their flapping falcons, going whichever way the wind had commanded.

Littlefinger was still walking, leading her until they were at the very edge of the Cliffside. The vast expense before them was nothing like the vast expense behind them. Behind Sansa was greenery and the sun setting, in front of Sansa all she could see was mud and dirt, bogs and bodies. Nothing grew in the expanse in front of her, nothing was green. It was brown and black and dead.

"Do you know where we are sweetling?" He asked.

"I'm afraid I don't father." Sansa replied. That seemed to make Littlefinger chuckle. She couldn't understand what was so funny. "Did I say something, father?"

" _Father."_ He replied. "No, darling, I won't be your father any more. And you won't have to be my bastard daughter. Not where we are going."

She was at a loss. At the vale, he had insisted that she dye her hair and took on a new alias, a new name, a new family, basically become a totally different person. In the Vale there was no Sansa Stark, heir to Winterfell, sister to the King in the North. Only Alaynne Stone. A bastard of a brothel owner, the get of some whore. As if her torment at Joffery's hands wasn't humbling enough, she had to pretend to be someone lowborn, a _bastard._

But in truth, bastards weren't bad at all, they were like anyone else. In fact to Sansa, all her pain had come from high born nobles with pure birth, not from lowly bastards. All the bastards she had met were kind to her. She would share laughs with Mya Stone at the Vale and at Winterfell…Sansa frowned. _Ah, Jon._ She reflected. _I still remember his face. Just barely. He was always kind to me. And I repaid that with neglect. I should've been kinder to him. I should've loved him. I should've known that all my family was important. Even my half-brother. My only brother now. My only family left._ Now that she thought of it something was eerily familiar about the fort sitting among the mud and muck. There was something familiar about the land, about the cold.

"Sweetling? You've not spoken. Does the view bother you?" Littlefinger asked.

It must have been more than a moment of silence then, while she was thinking of Jon. "There's not much of a view to admire, father." She quickly corrected herself. "I mean…" _Hmm, what do I call him? Why am I calling him anything different now?_ Littlefinger answered.

"Oh yes my lady, sure there is nothing pretty about the _land_ I'll grant you that much. The North has always been cold, grim and tough. It has proved a challenge for many a man or woman be it a Lord or a peasant. Take this patch for example. Nothing but mud. It smells awful, it makes travel dreadful and who knows what beasts or bodies lie within these filthy ditches, hmm? No, I think you're right my lady. There is nothing special about _this_ land."

 _My lady. But I'm only a bastard._ Sansa thought. Again Jon's face appeared in her conscience. Littlefinger went on.

"But what's beyond that miserable little fort you see ahead of you is something beautiful." He said with a sly smile. "Something that makes the North truly worth all its hardships and its winters. No the land is worthless, but what the land holds. Castles, armies, lords and wealth, now, now that is a great asset."

"So we're in the North." Sansa asked pensively. "Why? Where in the North?"

"Do you see that little fortress there?" He asked.

"Of course I can see it. It's the only building here for miles."

"But do you know what Fort it is? I'm sure you'll remember it well. I hazard you've been here before." He said with a sly smile on his lips. Sansa was thinking. _The North, we're here. Why? What does he want from it? Gold and castles and soldiers…but that's what every powerful man wants. That fort, these bogs._ Suddenly she realized where she was. Suddenly she felt overcome with despair.

"It's Moat Cailin. We're here at the neck."

"Yes, sweetling. So you have been here before."

"Yes." She responded sullenly. "With my father and my sister." _With the Queen and the King, and Prince Joffery. With Arya and her Nymeria. Oh Arya, where have you gone?_ She thought, it had been ages since she had seen her little sister. She could barely remember what she looked like. She had only a few memories of Arya, even fewer were good. _I quarrelled too much with her, if only I could've seen…how would I have known it would've come to this. The second we passed through the Neck our fates were sealed._

"And how do you feel when you see it again sweetling?"

 _Empty._ "I still remember the day we left Winterfell." _It feels like this happened a thousand years ago._ "Nothing good has come for any of us since we parted from the Neck. When I see this fort I am reminded by the tragedies." Tears began to form in Sansa's eyes.

"Darling." Littlefinger said softly. "No, no, no. Hush now don't cry. Look at these plains ahead of you, the hundreds of miles of North that lie before you, do you not see it? This is your brother's Kingdom. Your homeland. You should be happy."

"I'm a bastard, I have no brother. Remember?" Sansa said, tears still flowing freely.

Littlefinger took her into her arms and embraced her. She held him close while she cried. She just wanted to go back in the carriage, there was nothing to see here. Nothing but the bogs and the mud swamps down below, nothing but the ill-omened fort.

"Sansa" Littlefinger whispered in her ear. "You are no bastard, not here. Not anymore. This is the North, this is your home. You are not Alaynne Stone, you are Sansa _Stark._ A Stark. The last of your kind. Embrace your name, keep it. Don't let it fade away from time."

"I have to." Sansa answered back, choking back more tears. "The Queen thinks I poisoned her son. She's always hated me." She sniffled. "And now if she could get her hands on me, she'd kill me! She has men with swords scouring the country looking for me. Just like she has men looking for her brother. No, I can't. I have to forget my name because I will never be safe if I don't. I have to hide away. I will always have to hide away for the rest of my life. I can never be Sansa Stark again. I have to forget my name." She cried heavily into his shoulder as he patted her head. He was trying to calm her down but she just could not stop crying. _Why has he showed me this? Is this a cruel joke? What does he get out of traveling to a land I can never have?"_

"Sansa. Listen to me. I'm taking you back to your home. I'm taking you back to Winterfell. I am taking you back to the seat of your kingdom. There you will be safe from House Lannister. I assure you. There you can be a lady again, you can be a Stark."

"I…I…" _I'm at a loss._ Sansa couldn't understand what she was hearing. Going back home? There was nothing there. No one there. No family, no castle, no hearth. It had been burnt to the ground by Theon Greyjoy and was now haunted by the ghosts of the Kings of Winter, the ghosts of the smallfolk that died there and the ghosts of her poor brothers. "The Queen has men everywhere." She mumbled under her sorrow. Even now, far away Sansa feared Queen Cersei. Sansa saw how much Cersei loved Joffery. And she saw how cruel she could be as well. _One would have to be a monster to birth one._ Sometimes Sansa had nightmares that a lion with a long blonde mane with emerald green eyes and pale white skin was bounding after her in a godswood. And sometimes that lion would corner her at a weirwood tree and pin her to the ground. The lion would claw and roar and bellow and before she would bite, Sansa would wake up with sweat forming all over her body. From her brow to her arms to legs. Once she had even screamed so loud she woke sweet Robin up and gave him a fright.

"Yes, Cersei Lannister has men, but she lacks _power._ Tywin Lannister is dead sweetling. He held the family together, his will and determination subdued Westeros to his authority. But he's gone with the rest of them. Rotting in the sept of baelor I imagine. The Lannister name has lost its prestige, its fear and its bite. The Lion does not roar so loud anymore. Tyrion has fled the capital and nowhere to be seen, Jaime has one hand and fights worse than Lord Robin, King Tommen is sweeter and softer than the cats he plays with, Margaery adores you and Cersei herself, well, I hazard that she'll beggar the realm and burn her House to the ground before she finds you. And if she should, she will have to fight past your Leal northern subjects and with winter coming, she's sure to fail."

"I have no subjects. The North isn't mine." Sansa said with anger boiling up in her heart. _It was stolen. Stolen by a traitor who murdered my brother at a wedding. A wedding!_

"Yes darling. I know. It belongs to Roose Bolton now."

 _Roose Bolton._ Could there be a name more hated to Sansa's ears? _Joffery_. Well that was a close second, but the Lord of the Dreadfort had a special place of hatred in Sansa. While Joffery humiliated and brutalized her, and even on one occasion told that he wished that he could execute her father himself, he was, at heart, a wimp. A powerful but cruel wimp. Joffery did not have the strength to even lift the blade to kill her father nor the skill. He was sadistic enough to do so, but the boy never had courage. Never had strength. Totally unlike his father. Whoever he may have been. Sansa remembered when he cried out like a mule when he cut his arm on the throne the day after the battle of Blackwater was won. Or when Arya threw his sword into the ruby ford and her wolf savaged his arm. _I should've taken her side then. Why oh why did I stand up for that little wretch?_

But Roose Bolton…He was another man completely. He had done the deeds himself where Joffery had only threatened to do so, or if he did they were done by his _false_ knights of the Kingsguard, or by his father. Roose Bolton had pretended to be an ally of the Starks, he sat by Robb at his councils, fought be his side at war, rallied men for him, obeyed his commands and yet he still put his blade through his heart. In one swoop he had betrayed the Northern cause and his Kingdom to Lannister promises. He had taken his wardenship and his gold and sold out his fellow banner men.

The worst thing was that she had counted on Robb. She counted on him to liberate Winterfell from Theon Greyjoy and avenge her brothers, she counted on him to smash down the walls of King's Landing and behead Joffery on the steps of Baelor. She counted on him to save her from this ordeal, from her seventh hell. What was the crippling thing about his death was that she had lost hope. Hope for rescue, hope for justice, hope for the future. Roose Bolton had gained at her expense, Roose Bolton had taken from her more than what Joffery did. Joffery killed her Father, but Roose killed her hope and her chance of redemption. She still had sleepless nights about how she went to the Queen to tell her of her Lord father's plans. Then it was blind infatuation, now it seemed like betrayal. It seemed evil and self-serving. Almost like Roose Bolton himself. With Robb gone now she would have to live with her terrible choice for the rest of her life and bear its children, or bastards and tolerate its abuse or be put to the axe. Only Robb could've saved her and if he could she would've repented. Somehow, in any way she would've prayed and prayed for forgiveness. _I was so young. So young and so…blind._

Now Sansa was free of King's Landing, and from Joffery forever, but that did not make her despise the Lord of the Dreadfort any less or get her any closer to forgetting, nor forgiving him.

At least Joffery was a vociferous enemy of her brother, but Roose Bolton was an enemy within. A traitor and a liar. More a demon than a man. _There is a special place in the seventh hell for his kind and if the gods are good they will be quick in getting him there._

"Sansa" Littlefinger said, touching her check with the back of his hand. Sansa shrugged away quickly. She could not speak any more. The memories were too overbearing, the wounds too deep and the blood too fresh. She turned her back on him and looked to the carriage and then to the ground. She was crying again. She hated crying, she had shed enough tears in King's Landing. "Sweetling, these lands are still your brother's Kingdom."

"The Kingdom died with my brother. There is nothing for me here. For you maybe, _uncle._ But I have no business here. My place of birth is ash and cinder, its people put to the sword. My _leal_ lords died with their King at my uncle's wedding. My title is stolen by a traitor and a liar, a thief and murderer and his seat won't be Winterfell. _Uncle._ He's probably made the Dreadfort his new capital. The north is his now, all of it." Sansa said bitterly. "From the wall to the Neck. None of it is mine. Even if I am Sansa Stark."

"Actually, Roose Bolton has kept Winterfell as his seat of power in the North. He has his men rebuilding it right now."

" _Roose Bolton is in Winterfell?"_ Sansa asked incredulously. The thought of such a slimy, lowly churl like Roose Bolton sitting in the hall of her father, walking among the crypts of her ancestors sent chills down her spine and anger through her nerves. She couldn't take it anymore. "No. I am not going _back,_ to Winterfell." And she stormed off to the carriage. Littlefinger sped walked after her.

"My Lady! My lady! Please." He grabbed a hold of her hand.

"No!" Sansa called out angrily. "I'll never set another foot into the North! Not while Roose Bolton sits in Winterfell. Not while he calls himself Warden of the North."

Littlefinger grabbed hold of her. "Listen to me Sansa, a man can call himself a Warden or a King but a title doesn't give him power. No, loyalty gives him power. Fear gives him power. We both know what Roose Bolton holds over the North lords who remain. But fear will not bind him to the North for long. No, what every man who has just taken power needs…is legitimacy."

"And how will he gain this legitimacy?" Sansa asked.

"He would hope, through marriage."

 _So that was the wedding arrangement? No, no, no, no, no, no! Never again will I marry a murderer._ She rounded on Littlefinger. "You say am I to go home? You say that I will be free and protected? That I will be a Stark, are you being cruel to me? Do you wish to see me cry because you are! You can see me! Fine! I thought my home was nothing but a scorched abandoned castle, but now I learn that the same rats who killed my brother and mother and stole away the kingdom live there? And now you want me to marry him?"

He put both his hands on her face and pulled her close. He tried to comfort her. "Sweetling." He said faintly, but Sansa would not stop. All her grief, her regret, her sorrow, her anger and her hate were boiling over now.

"He's a demon! A liar! I hate him! I hate him! I hate him! I cannot and will not go! I can't be teased about what's mine. None of it can ever be mine, not even my home. Not even my name! I hate Roose Bolton and I would never, ever give him the legitimacy to rule my brother's throne! I don't have a purpose here or anywhere! I'm useless, worthless! I hate this! I hate it all!" She fell to her knees and cried so bitterly, cried so deeply as she had never cried before. She felt as if the world was on her shoulders. Littlefinger knelt down in front of her, his hands still on her face. And he spoke to her.

"You're not going to marry Roose Bolton, sweetling. You are to marry his son. Ramsay Bolton."

"Ramsay? Why should he be any better? Any one raised by Roose Bolton must be as cruel and evil as he is. No, I won't do it. Never." Sansa said.

"Listen to me Sansa. I will not force you into the marriage. The choice is all yours. But tell me this, do you like feeling afraid? Do you like falling to the ground in sorrow? Is this how you want to be for your entire life? I want you to be happy Sansa. You look so miserable and that is a shame, you have a face that suits a smile. I know that you have nightmares of be cornered and eaten by a Lannister Lion-"

"I do not." She said immediately. "How, how do you know?"

"Lord Robin told me." Littlefinger answered. Sansa responded with a face of disbelief.

"How could he, that was our secret!"

"No my lady, please. Be angry with me, it was I who asked him."

"What of it?"

"I know what it means. It means fear, uneasiness, doom and despair. You've had enough of all that I think. Don't you wish to be happy? Don't you wish to be a Stark, the proud wardens of the North? Sansa I know you think that you must hide. That you can never be who you truly are, that you think your name and value are only words, words that are wind. No, my lady. Stop hiding. Stop crying, stop being afraid. I'm not asking you to marry Ramsay Bolton because you love him. I want you to marry him because you loved _your family._ Tell me there names, all their names, tell me why you loved them Sansa."

 _Why?_ "My lord father, Eddard Stark. I loved him because he was stern but had a big heart. My lady mother, Catelyn Stark who I loved because she always gave me comfort. My brother Robb because he is a hero and brave, my brother Bran because he is too easy to love, my brother Rickon because he was an adorable baby and my sister Arya, whom I loved because, because she was the only sister I had and will ever have. And then Jon, I didn't love him. And that makes me feel terrible shame." That had made her stop crying at least, but her heart still beat weakly.

"Yes Sansa. But you do love them now, all of them, greatly do you not?"

"Yes I did." It hurt using the words _did_ and _loved_ for they were words of the past. And the past stayed in the past, unfixable, unchangeable and total.

Littlefinger spoke again. "Then avenge them Sansa. Avenge them for the love you have for your family. Avenge the Starks, avenge the north and its people. Marry Ramsay Bolton, and become Wardeness of the North when Roose dies. And if the gods, or a certain individual were crafty enough, that would be sooner than later."

"But, I am already married. To-"

"Tyrion _Lannister._ He is no less Lion than the rest of them. And he's gone. Guilty of murder. Your marriage with him was a farce, a political ploy." _And this isn't?_ Sansa wanted to say. "He was lecherous and spiteful and too ugly to be worth such a beauty like you." _That was cruel. Lord Tyrion was always kind to me. He refused to rape me and he was gentle._ Tyrion tried his best to make Sansa happy but she could never truly trust him. Although there were times where they shared a laugh. Like when Tyrion told a story of what the hound said to the King when he deserted the battle. "Fuck the King." It made Sansa giggle. She supposed it was kind of funny then, funny now even. But the Hound was dead and Tyrion was gone. Their losses made Sansa feel very empty as well. But Littlefinger continued. "He never consummated his marriage with you. Probably stunned by your grace and beauty. So by all the laws of the land, you are still a maiden."

Sansa was quiet. She had to think very hard of what she was going to say next. Will she really ride into Winterfell being draped in flayed man banners and see Roose Bolton standing triumphantly in his new seat of power? And how could she marry the son of a liar and traitor? They will expect her to breed with him. To carry on their line. _I will never birth a Bolton into this world, never. I'll never give Roose Bolton or his son an heir._ The answer seemed clear them. But then another thought whispered in her head. _And if you don't go to Winterfell, will Roose Bolton stop being Warden of the North, stop ruling his stolen lands?_ But if she refused she would not have to see him, she would not have to have his heirs, nor touch or breed with his son. _But then I will be hiding away. Hiding and crying and being frightened. Is that all I am?_ But what if she was to have a baby, would she love it? Would she care? Would she be cruel enough to murder it in its womb? What if this Ramsay was kind? _Most likely not, he shares his father's spoils._ But she wasn't going there because she had any affection to any Bolton. She was going there to kill Roose Bolton. _But how? There are so many complications, he will be there among all his power and what if I married to his son before I can get a chance. Would I let Roose's son into me?_ She shivered. _Would I let Roose's grandson grow inside me?_ It seemed simpler just to refuse. It seemed like the better option, but that didn't make it the _right_ option.

"Who will be there?"

"Why all the Lords in the North. The Umbers, the Lockes, the Manderlys, the Ryswells and many others will be there to attend the ceremony.

"What does Roose hold over them? Besides fear?" Sansa asked.

"Hostages. Many of these Lords would rip Roose Bolton from Winterfell and tear him to pieces with their own teeth if their brothers or cousins or uncles weren't filling the dungeons beneath the Twin Towers of Frey."

 _The Freys. She had not forgotten them either._ "And will the Freys be in Winterfell?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Why would Roose Bolton invite a family that every Northerner hates right beside the men he tries to get loyalty from?"

"Because Roose Bolton would rather have the Northern Lords hate the Freys than hate him."

 _And that is his greatest mistake. It will only be a matter of time before one of them draws and sword on the other, and if that happens…chaos. And chaos is a ladder. Sow discord among his ranks and Roose's Empire would fall._ Although she couldn't just wait around and let that happen. If the gods are good they would be at each other's throats before she arrived. Although, she didn't mind lending a hand if the gods weren't so inclined to help.

"Fine then uncle." Sansa said quietly, the tears she shed had been long gone. "I will go to Winterfell."

Littlefinger vaulted her up. "And I am pleased to hear it. Come my lady, it is a long ride to Winterfell."

They had gotten back to the carriage and it strolled along a bumpy, muddy road, slowly but surely to Moat Cailin. Night had now fallen on the North now and as the passed through the gates of the fort, she could see torch fire illuminate the flayed man banners. _And wouldn't Roose Bolton look perfect on one of his banners?_ He would be a perfect replacement for the flayed man, _already_ on the banner. _Winter is Coming Lord Bolton and I'm coming for you._


	3. Chapter 3

Reek

"Pay the visitor's tax!" Cried out Damon-Dance-for-me at the gate of Winterfell. The other bastard boys chuckled. They had already paid the visitor's tax. They had made a special dog collar for Reek and chained him to a post just next to the main gate. Every man or woman that walked into Winterfell would listen to what the bastard boys had to say, give Reek a dirty look and spit on his face. Such was the tax. It was Lord Ramsay's idea. Reek was not allowed to sit or lie down, not to sit or crouch for a moment of respite. He knew better than to test their patience, but he was so weak that sometimes he would collapse from exhaustion or from being starved. But even he were to sit or slouch he would be at the end of Yellow Dick's whip. And now he was worried that the very dreaded whip would scar his back again since he was felt that he could faint at any moment. He hadn't eaten anything for hours. He only could scrap the meet of the bones that Ramsay's bitches left him. Reek couldn't remember that last time when he actually ate a good meal. Theon Greyjoy used to eat anything from cows, pigs, horse to water fowl to deer. Theon Greyjoy was a great lord and could enjoy a grand feast. Theon Greyjoy could eat meat, especially, because he was strong. _I wish I was Theon Greyjoy._ Reek thought to himself. _No, no! I'm Reek! Reek, reek rhymes with meek._

Either way, this had been the fourth day that Lord Roose Bolton was accepting arrivals from all over the North to his new seat at Winterfell. He didn't know why, but he dared not to ask. _Never ask for anything more than you are given._ Reek remembered, a harsh lesson he learned in the dungeons of the Dreadfort. _No that wasn't harsh. My lord Ramsay is just, I deserved it. I deserved this too. I deserved to be paid the visitor's tax. These four days, men and women have paid their hate tax. They hate me. All of me._

"The traitor of the North! The murderer of the Stark boys, the one who put Winterfell to the torch!" The Bastard boys would cry when someone was reluctant to spit. But every one spit on him eventually. Whether it was a cook, a squire, a steward, a man at arms or a knight they soaked his face. Some would spit at a distance, some would spit meekly, some would gather all the snot from their nose and spit harshly, some would stand right in his face and spit. Even Lord Ramsay and Roose Bolton paid their tax to get into Winterfell as well. Roose Bolton sighed and called the tax a child's play, but spit anyways. Ramsay got off his horse, spit in his palms and rubbed his hands all over Reek's face.

"There Reek. I think you look cleaner already." He said cheerfully. Ramsay's bastard boys laughed then. And they laughed now. Once, Reek had made the mistake of crying when the travelers spit on him. It was terribly un-wise since he lost the privilege of wearing boots. Now he was forced to stand in horse shit. Another time he made the mistake of wiping the green, white and yellow goo from his face since there was so much if hanging off and freezing on his face. That earned Reek ten lashes.

"Pay the visitor's tax my lord!" This time Yellow Dick called out when men bearing a black banner with a white sun came to the gate. _Theon Greyjoy would've known that banner. Back when Theon Greyjoy sat at Robb Stark's table. Back when Theon Greyjoy was Robb Stark's friend._ He thought to himself in despair.

"Bah, we're already here. What more do we have to pay?" One knight asked impatiently.

"Quiet" Growled the man who was at the head of their pack. He mounted a tall black courser and was heavily dressed in large bear robes. He seemed like their lord. His face was gaunt and one of his shoulders was a foot over the over making him as if he were crouching on horseback. He was terribly immobile. He couldn't even face the knight who called out when he spoke to him. "How much is the damned visitor's tax and how are you?" He asked, snarling.

"I am Richard of Yellowdale, a servant to House Bolton and an attendant to Lord Ramsay Bolton. But you can call me Yellow Dick."

Some of the men in the pack chuckled. "Yellow Dick. Aye. That's what I'll call you. And what this damn tax? We've come all the way from Karhold." The lord did not seem pleased. "How much then?"

"It's not really payment my lord. It's simply an initiation to Winterfell. Look here." Yellow Dick said as Little Walder forced Reek closer to the man. The chain tugged violently on his collar and neck. "We call him Reek."

"Reek, is it? It's a good name. He smells worse than pig shit." He paused, eyeing Reek strangely. "Wait, didn't the Starks kill you?"

"I" He was about to open his mouth to answer when Grunt put his fist to Reek's nose.

"It's rude for an animal to talk to a lord, isn't Reek?" Grunt asked shrewdly. His smile was wiped off his lips when he saw the frozen spittle on his knuckles. "You've gotten my dirty Reek." He said. "Well what are you waiting for clean my knuckles off, I don't want to steal the taxes you've collected."

Reek motioned forward with his…better hand to collect his taxes. "Oh no Reek. Don't use your hand. It ain't good for much anymore." Little Walder said. _He's right. Lord Ramsay took of two fingers of my right hand. It's useless, like I am…_ Little Walder went on. "Why don't you use those lips of yours Reek? You have such pretty lips. I think I'll take those lips and give them to Lord Ramsay, you know he could use them for his collection."

Reek shivered in the cold. Grunt put his knuckles right under Reek's chin. Reek was about to re-collect his taxes when the crooked lord spoke up. "Enough. I didn't come here to see some eyesore lick whatever is on your first. I asked a simple question."

"That's not the same one my lord." A knight from behind him said. The lord of the pack did not even deign to turn around and reply. Most likely because he couldn't.

"There's more than one Reek? The North is worse for it then." The Lord asked.

"Yes my lord, this Reek is an affront to our eyes. He is disgusting no? Lord Ramsay made him. He used to be Theon Greyjoy once, he used to be Ironborn. He used to be an iron _man._ " _Man._ Reek thought wincing, remembering the pain of the castration knife. "A proper lord he used to be, an heir of some King on some shitty rocks out in the sea. But he's no man now. Just an animal."

"Smells like one too." The crook back lord said. "Why do you suffer him to live? That creature is a traitor. He doesn't deserve to be in Winterfell, not after what he did to the Starks. Or their home."

"It's Lord Ramsay's wish to keep this creature alive."

"Very well, I won't question my warden. I guess his only use is to collect this visitor's tax."

Grunt said "Aye. That's true. He's only here for you to spit on 'im."

"That's the tax?" The lord said in realisation. "To spit on this creature? His name doesn't even deserve to be spoken on my breath, why should I spit on him? If I was _your_ lord, I would have roped him by the _cock_ and hung him on the castle walls."

The bastard boys couldn't help but snicker. They exchanged malicious glances and smiles. Their smiles turned into giggles and then their giggles turned into hysterical laughter. They bellowed and screamed their enjoyment at the joke that everyone understood except the crooked Lord and his men. Reek just stood there in the ring of men who were taunting him. _They know. Little Walder was there when Ramsay…Lord Ramsay took it away from me._ Reek started to cry to himself. The lord seemed unamused.

"What is so funny about a man being roped up against the wall by his cock?"

Grunt responded with a shrill of a laugh. "WHAT COCK?!" And the bastard boys continued to holler and bellow wildly. Little Walder finally noticed at his tears. "Oh no Reek. We can't have you cry now. You'll wash away all the hard earned taxes you've collected. We can't have that. You need to be punished…" _Oh no, I cried. I shouldn't…._ Reek shivered uncontrollably. He fell down in his pile of horse shit. Just as Damon-Dance for me pulled out the whip coiled around in his belt and had a grin that reached from ear to ear, in almost the same instant his skin turned to a color whiter than snow and the laughing of the bastard boys went silent. The lord's men stood straight on their horses and the crooked lord bowed his head. Reek turned his head to find Roose Bolton and his son on their pale grey destriers and twenty men behind them bearing the flayed man banners. Reek got up quickly from the pile of horse manure. He was in no way to receive Lord Ramsay's father. _Ramsay will punish me for that._

"Lord Arnolf Karstark." Roose Bolton said in his whispery, soft tone. "Welcome to Winterfell my lord. It is an honor to have such a prestigious house such as yours to attend us here. I do thank you."

The crooked lord returned the courtesy. "My lord of the Dreadfort, or should I say Warden of the North. I believe a great feast is in order for your grand ascension. Is that your son my lord?"

Ramsay smiled to the Lord Karstark and answered. "Yes my lord. I am Ramsay Bolton, heir to my lord father and to Winterfell and the Dreadfort."

"And I believe congratulations are in order for your engagement, Lord Stark's daughter is quite comely I am told." _Stark girl? Arya, Sansa? No, no please. They cannot see me._

A puzzled look came on Ramsay's face. "Engagement? I don't know about an engagement my lord."

"Surely my warden jokes do you not know of-"Lord Karstark was interrupted by Roose Bolton.

"My Lord, there is much to discuss. Come along withme, your men may go into the main hall. My cooks have made many a succulent dish. And I must apologize for the appearance of this creature to you. It is not a fitting welcome to meet the Lord of Karhold with this living abhorrence. Ramsay escort this, this…what was the name given to it?"

"Reek, my lord. For his smell." Little Walder replied happily.

"Do you think yourself clever for coming up with that?" The Lord of the Dreadfort said dryly. Little Walder's smile turned into worry.

"No, no my lord. My warden." He said quietly.

"Right then. Ramsay take him back to the kennels. Or better yet, put him to work. If this wretch put Winterfell to the sword he will do his part into fixing it."

"Lord Father, the thing is useless. He cannot lift heavy things or properly hold a hammer or a nail."

"I did not speak to hear replies, I spoke to command. Do not make me repeat myself."

Ramsay looked like he would kill his father right then and there. There was anger in Ramsay's eyes while there was nothing in Roose's. Reek had looked into Roose Bolton's eyes many times and had never ever seen any kind of emotion or sentiment there. Roose Bolton's face was blank, always, his voice was soft and quiet but his words made many a man shiver. Roose Bolton was a cold man. _And to think Theon Greyjoy would joke of him and his leeches. This is no simple man that would take japes. He has more cruelty in his little finger than most men do in their entire bodies._

Ramsay finally subdued to this father's authority after their shared glare. Lord Karstark went with the Lord of the Dreadfort while Ramsay ordered his bastard boys to get back to work. Grunt unwrapped the chain around the post at the gate of Winterfell as the Karstark men rode in. Ramsay on horseback grasped the chain in his hand and towed Reek forward. He followed meekly. He was glad to be out of the horse shit, but at least it was warm. Without shoes he had to step on the cold, muddy ground barefoot. The snowflakes were falling more easily from the sky now as Ramsay led Reek, the wind was snapping more now. Much to Reek's discomfort and as they got closer and closer to the dead heart of the dead city, Reek could actually hear noise. Hammers seemed to be clanging, wood was crashing and men were shouting at one another. They were going at a slow pace when Ramsay looked over his shoulder and shook his head in disapproval. "Reek." He asked with disappointment heavy in his tone. "What are you doing?"

 _Should I speak? It's rude for an animal to speak to a lord. It's even ruder to refuse._ "I am walking with you, Lord Bolton."

"Men walk on two legs, right Reek?"

 _Men walk on two legs. Men can hunt and run and fight. I can't do any of those things._ "Yes my lord."

"So why are _you_ walking then?"

"To follow you my lord."

"Are you a man?" Ramsay asked.

 _I'll never be a man. I was never ironborn._ "No my lord."

"What are you?"

 _Reek, reek rhymes with bleak. You must never forget your name._ "An animal. A reek."

Ramsay nodded his headed slowly up and down. "Good. And how do animals move around Reek? Do they walk? No, that's ridiculous. Only men can walk and you are not a man, right Reek?"

"Yes my lord. I'm an animal. An eyesore. I should sleep in the kennels and eat whatever the bitches leave me."

Ramsay laughed aloud. "Oh Reek you have learned so well. But you cannot walk around as a man. Then you would be like Theon Greyjoy, and Theon Greyjoy was a man. And what happened to Theon Greyjoy?"

 _Failure. Despair. Betrayal._ "He died Lord Bolton."

"Who killed him?"

"I did my lord." _I killed him the second I, he turned on Robb. Theon Greyjoy was Robb's friend and Ward to Eddard Stark. Theon was Ironborn. Theon was free._ Not that any of that mattered now. Theon Greyjoy had died long ago. This Reek was a pitiful creature in his place. _A sad creature indeed. Lowly, sickly, infertile and slow._

"Right you did. That Theon Greyjoy was vile, a traitor too. He was our enemy. I am glad that he's dead Reek, even gladder that you killed him. It seemed right, no?"

"Yes my lord, very right." Reek answered.

"Well come along now, and don't walk, only men walk."

"How should I follow you my lord?"

"Crawl like the beasts do. On your hands and knees then Reek, you should get a feel for the ground you stole from the Starks."

"But I…" A cold knife started poking at his spine. It wasn't real, but he could shiver at its touch. Lord Ramsay turned his grey destrier to Reek with a confounded look on his face. "What was that, Reek? Something you wanted to add?"

"No. No. I misspoke my lord. I wanted to say nothing. Animals don't talk." Reek got down quickly on his hands and knees like an obedient dog. _No, even a dog is nobler creature than Reek._ Ramsay Bolton looked displeased he spit on the ground and rode his destrier forward, pulling at the chain and pulling Reek along. There were no words exchanged between the two any further. But it was far from silent. In the dead heart of the dead city, there was much activity. Winterfell was a busy place. Cooks, squires, stewards, carpenters and knights were everywhere, surrounded the two and walking many directions no doubt with many tasks to do. The men were building staircases, raising the flayed man banners, making houses and smithies, taverns and inns. They were building wells and shops and taking their horses to newly made stables. Bolton men were repairing the library that was damaged back when the Starks had Winterfell, and destroyed when Ramsay took it. Men had pails of clay to fix the walls and paint to cover the burnt granite. Hammers were ringing, men were bellowing out orders and hailing Lord Ramsay while others were at tables overlooking plans and discussing materials and supplies.

In a way Winterfell was alive again. _No, not alive. Not ever again. Winterfell is a breathing corpse and it's all my fault._ Reek's last memory of Winterfell was tranquility and quiet. It was his final night as prince of Winterfell, he still remembered, back when Theon Greyjoy was alive. All the smallfolk were sleeping while outside the gates Ser Rodrick Cassel had assembled near two thousand North men to depose him. _People were alive then and the banners of the Kraken waved proudly in the Northern air. Men and women and children had beds to sleep in, horses had their stables and it was my, no, Theon Greyjoy's men who patrolled the walls._ Reek didn't remember much of what happened on his final night as Prince of Winterfell. Lord Ramsay came to him as a Reek, as an ally. But the second he was within the gates, Lord Ramsay had hit him so hard he fell in the mud and burnt the city to the ground. _He burnt smiler. I heard the fires tear through wood and men be cut down as they yielded._ Sometimes in his nightmares he would relive the nightmare over and over and over again. Sometimes he would get up and scream and startle Ramsay's bitches. That warranted him to lose another toe.

But now it was the flayed man banners whipping in the winter air, Bolton men patrolling the walls and Bolton smallfolk living in Winterfell, after all if Winterfell was to be ruled it needed people to be ruled over. And now Winterfell was _loud._ At the gate it was silent, the only noise that assaulted Reek's ears was the cruel laughter of the Bastard boys and the sound of men and women spitting on his face. Reek hated the quiet. He found it maddening. Every time there was silence, he was brought to the night Winterfell burned. _It was quiet then. It's always quiet before a tragedy happens._ Other memories included when almost twelve years ago when Ned Stark demanded a ward from Balon Greyjoy after he beat him. He still remembered his father's cruel words. "Take him. I have the hammer and anvil to make better sons. I still have the salt of the Iron Kings to forge a stronger heir, go Lord Stark take him, and leave me to suffer my disgrace in peace." But what Reek hated the most about the silence was that when there was no sound, there was nothing to stop him from hearing his guilty conscience.

In his kennel, when the bitches would finally sleep, it would be quiet and all the Reek would see in front of him were the visages of Robb and Catelyn, Bran and Rickon, Mikken, Ser Rodrick, Sansa, Arya…they were all in front of him. Begging him, crying to him. They were all asking why. They were all screaming at him while he could respond with no answer. He would cry terribly in those dreams and awake with tears running down his cheeks. And in those dreams after he cried profusely, Eddard Stark would appear and take him in front of the Weirwood tree that grew in the Godswood. Set his head upon a block and slice his head away.

"Here we are Reek." Ramsay said, as he snapped him out of deep thought. "The crypts beneath Winterfell. They say all the Kings of Winter are buried here, that the descendants of Lord Stark sit here in their granite thrones, a sword across their lap and a dire wolf at their right side. A very important place for a Stark. But you're not a Stark, are you Reek?"

"No my lord. I was but a ward." _And I hated them for it. I wanted to be one of them. I wanted to be Robb's true brother. And Lord Ramsay knows that, he reminds me of it constantly._

"It's quite a marvelous structure. It is cavernous inside. I could almost get lost in there if I didn't have a torch or my bitches to guide my way. Have you been down here Reek?"

"A few times my lord. It wasn't my place to be there."

"And rightfully so, how could they allow such a creature, like a Reek to enter such a hallowed place, hmm? It would be a disgrace. Sadly near all the Starks are dead, right Reek. It's a shame you killed those boys."

 _Bran and Rickon escaped me, but to where? They were as good as dead alone in this weather._ "Yes my lord. I was vile and insolent and cruel."

"You should have at least buried them here. You could have done them that much, ah, but you hated the Starks too much for that. I think that warrants this." Ramsay said as he tugged the chain and forced Theon to land face first into the cold, hard ground. He continued as Reek recovered. "But these are my crypts now and soon my father and I and my children will be buried here. Maybe I'll have you buried here too. Reek."

"I am not worthy of such honor."

"No Reek, you are. You've been a very trustworthy servant. You collect my taxes, keep my bitches company, and you gave me Moat Cailin, what would I do without you Reek?" Ramsay smiled. He got off his destrier and dismissed the two Bolton guards that were standing in front of the crypt entrance. "Go get me a hammer and chisel." He said under his breath as walked to collect Reek from the ground. The guard obeyed and strode off the get the hammer and chisel. Ramsay spoke to the other. "Go and stable my horse. I want to go out riding on the morrow."

"Yes milord." The guard said as he took away Ramsay's horse. Ramsay then hauled Reek up to his feet. "Do you like what my men have done to these wolves Reek?"

At the entrance of the crypt where the two Bolton guards used to be were large granite statues of dire wolves. In their prime they must have looked fierce, indomitable and proud, like House Stark itself was once. The faces of the granite beasts were chiseled off, leaving the snout, eyes and teeth of the proud animal looking deformed and deteriorated. _Like me. Like House Stark._ But he answered anyways. "A fine job my lord."

"Indeed. It was my lord father's idea. Winterfell was the Stark's capital. But it belongs to House Bolton now, to me and my father. If anything we should have statues of flayed men, not dire wolves." He shrugged his shoulders. "It matters little, for now this should suffice." He said as he stroked the ruined face of the granite beast. There was a quiet between them for a few moments. The guard that Ramsay sent away for supplies returned with the hammer and chisel. He bowed his head "mi'lord" and handed over the materials and walked away. Ramsay turned to Reek.

"Do you wish to be useful Reek?"

"Yes my lord, always. I am forever your…your Reek."

Ramsay smiled eagerly. "Yes, a very good Reek at that. As my lord father said, since it was you that ruined Winterfell it must be you that helps to fix it. See Reek," He said as he put his hand on Reek's shoulder and turned to face the working Bolton men "this is a new age. A rebirth of a fallen capital. From the ashes of the Starks, the Boltons will have a grander and stronger capital. What's the tripe that those islanders repeat all the time?"

"What is dead may never die, but rises harder and stronger."

"That rings true for us Northmen Reek, not so much for you _Ironborn._ " Ramsay snickered. "Yes, my father wishes to make this wreck a proper seat for his heirs. He is right, the Warden of the North should not settle for some cinder desert of a city. Nor should he settle for a city that has any trace of a rival. You know that Winterfell has been the seat of House Stark for centuries, some would say all the way back to the Age of Heroes. Oh yes they were our powerful overlords once, with their winter and their wolves. Now we need not fear either of them. The Freys have seen to their demise. But the Starks were our enemies Reek. Had your brother, well not real brother but close enough brother, Robb, still been alive he would be a King, a King in the North. And what would I be? The simple heir to the Dreadfort. No wardenship and no Winterfell. That wouldn't be good for us would it Reek? If Robb Stark had found you instead of me he would've killed you. See Reek, I was merciful. Even when you deserved death. But you don't want to die Reek? Do you?"

 _I had begged you to kill me time and time again. I am nothing. A reek, a plaything._ But Reek was wise not to speak his mind. "Yes my lord. I live to serve you."

"In that crypt is the statue of Eddard Stark himself, the last Stark Warden of the North." The words chilled into Theon's ears with grief and sorrow and totality. _He truly was the last Stark warden. And if he were alive to see who would take his place he would turn in his grave._ But Lord Stark's bones never made it up north yet, only his statue was what remained of him in Winterfell. "I have seen the statue made for him in the crypt. Do you still remember what he looks like?"

"Yes my lord." _He cuts my head off before a weirwood tree in my nightmares._

"I must say Reek, the sculptor must have had real talent. Carving the features of the man into the hard material such as granite must be pain-staking and require time and patience. It's a waste then that the sculptor had to waste so much effort then. Eddard Stark was the warden of the north, once, when these crypts belonged to the Starks. But now. They don't have a place here anymore. It's not their crypt or their Winterfell, or their North either for that matter. It's my father's. It's mine." Ramsay finished as excitement gleamed in his eyes. _What will be ask of me?_ Ramsay handed him the tools, the chisel in one hand and the hammer in the other. "The burial crypt is massive, but you've been in it more times than anyone here. You also remembered what Lord Stark looked like. I want _you_ to go down there and chisel his face off. I want no trace of a previous _Stark_ warden in Lord Bolton's Winterfell, understand?"

There was a time when Reek would've gladly chiseled the face of Eddard Stark's likeness. _I hated him once. But I loved him, even though he could never love me. None of the Starks could ever love me. I was leverage, but this was my home. And Lord Stark had never done me ill. He loved his children, unlike my own father._ But he dare not refuse Ramsay now. He could convince Ramsay that he was in no condition to hold a hammer and chisel, that he would fail at his task. _Perhaps that's what my lord wants me to do. He'll want my lips next, or the skin of my back. He loves to torment me so. But I deserve it. My lord is just._ "I'll do it my lord." He finally said.

"Good then. Picture Lord Stark's face as the corpse of that wench we hunted some time ago…what was her name again?"

"Tansy?"

"Yes Reek. Good that you remembered. Picture Lord Eddard's face as Tansy's and imagine your hammer and chisel as one of my bitch's jaws. I want you to give her a good feast. I will return in an hour to see what you have done. Don't disappoint me." Reek nodded and went to his knees to kiss Lord Ramsay's feet. Lord Ramsay said no further words and strode away from him, to where? Reek didn't know. Reek looked down into his hands and saw the hammer and chisel. He knew that Ramsay had chosen him especially for this task. Theon Greyjoy had loved Eddard Stark and Robb once before he cruelly betrayed them, but Reek. Reek had no affection, no love for this extinct family. But he would have to prove it. Words are wind. _Is this what I am now? A creature with no will of its own?_ It didn't matter. Theon hobbled on this lanky, cut, whipped and bruised legs down the steps into the crypt. As he was nearing the bottom the staircase, he put both the tools into this better left hand and pulled a torch off the scone in the wall. As he descended further and further into the darkness, into the domain of the King's of Winter, the sound of the Boltons trying to revive the dead corpse of Winterfell grew fainter and fainter. The sound of hammers and shouts, pick axes and saws and horses died down here. There was nothing here but Reek and silence. The dreaded silence.

The crypt was damp and Reek's breath froze right under his nose. There were faint sounds of water dripping from stalactites that hung from the cave ceiling and faint sounds of torches burning from their wall scones barely illuminating the King they would guard. Theon trudged past each of them in turn until he reached the granite statue of Lord Eddard Stark. He stood to face the granite Warden. He said nothing, letting the silence between the two be filled with the faints sounds of dripping and the torch blazing. The orange, reddish fire only covered half of Lord Stark and of Reek. Reek stared into his eyes. Even though the figure was just granite, he felt something there. He felt like the granite warden was looking right through him with the same stern eyes he possessed during his life. All the Starks after Torren Stark, the King who kneeled, where depicted standing instead of sitting on their thrones. All the other Starks stood up tall and straight holding their ancestral great sword, Ice, and their dire wolf at their right with their jaws open. Eddard Stark towered over Reek with a daunting frame. Reek shriveled where he stood. He felt vulnerable in front of the granite warden. He felt as helpless as a dust mite under a man's boot. He was only a creature, a Reek, while Eddard Stark was a man, a Hand and a Warden. And a loving father. His father. The tools were shaking in Reek's hands. He dropped then. He was always clumsy ever since Lord Ramsay took his fingers off his good hand. Tears began to well up in his eyes and his regular puffs of white air under his nose became irregular, rushed and panicked and he collapsed to the floor in sorrow. The tears were streaming down his cheeks freely now as he wept under Lord Stark's shadow. _I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I'm sorry for Winterfell. I'm sorry I betrayed Robb and your sons. Forgive me. "Forgive me."_ Reek said in the slightest of whispers.

"Theon." A different voice replied. Reek spring from the ground looking to see where that voice came from. He looked around frantically to see if anyone was down here with him. _Please don't let it be Ramsay. Please._ "Theon." The voice said again. Reek's heart could barely beat.

"Where are you?" He asked to the darkness.

"Look at me Theon." Reek looked up at the Granite Warden. It was madness to ask. But he did so anyways.

"Lord Stark?" He questioned in a frightened voice.

"Yes. Stand before me Theon." The Granite warden replied. It had to be him. He had Lord Eddard's voice. But how could this be? Eddard Stark had ridden south and died. This statue spoke to him though, but his lips did not move. He stood there in stone, the light revealing half his body, but he _spoke._ Reek did as he was told.

"My name's Reek."

The granite warden ignored the correction. "Why do you stand in the crypts of my father's Lord Greyjoy? What have I done to have earned your hatred so?"

"I. Nothing. I…I"

"Did I not give you shelter to hide you from storms? Food to fill your stomach, give you a bed to rest your head? I had my blacksmith make you your first sword, I had my master at arms train you to fight. Robb loved you as his brother."

"You did Lord Stark. You did…" Reek could hardly speak. There was no reason why a pathetic creature like him should dare even cower in the presence of Eddard Stark. "I was ungrateful. I wasn't happy with what I had. I was wrong."

"Did you hate us Theon?" Lord Stark asked.

"I'm Reek." He answered trying to avoid the question. _Reek, reek rhymes with meek. I must always remember my name._

"You are Theon Greyjoy. Why did you hate us so much that you betrayed the trust of your closest friend and attacked the city that raised you? Why did you rise against the North? Against my blood Theon? Why?"

"I…was never Theon Greyjoy." _I'm Reek. I only collect taxes._ "I wanted to appease my father." It was a weak reason. "I wanted to prove myself to him and my uncles."

"Why did you hunt down my younger sons Theon? One a cripple, one barely a boy. Why did you turn against Robb? He saw you as his ally, his friend. You sat at his councils, you helped him fight battles. He respected you, he cared for you. Why did you take my castle? Your home? What had my family ever done to you?"

Reek burst into tears now. "Theon Greyjoy did that! I! I! I! HE! I don't know! I'm sorry! Forgive him! Forgive me! I, I was arrogant. I didn't want to be weak. Ironborn are never weak. I wanted to be a different man. I wanted to be…to be…"

"A liar and a traitor."

"No! Please, Lord Stark, I never. I couldn't." Reek kissed the feet of the granite statue. "Forgive me I…you were my father. You could never love me, I know… but my father hated me. Sent me away and when I returned he beat be and taunted me. Ramsay flays me and strips my flesh bare. Your son treated as an equal. He loved me. He was my best friend, and you were my real father. You both lost your heads and I could do nothing to stop it. When Bran fell from the tower I visited him to see if he was better, I saved him from wildlings, when you died I cried with Robb that day. The news reached the camp, and half the men were in despair. Your dear wife was despondent and Robb was in agony."

"So why did you do it?"

"I wanted to be loved." He sounded so childish but it was true. "I wanted my father to love me. I thought I wanted wealth and power and glory. I just wanted my father to see me as his son. But I am not now. I wanted the Starks to love me, but I, I was your ward. I…I failed you. I betrayed you."

The statue was quiet for a while. Reek stared into Eddard's stern granite eyes again. In a feeling that mixed amazement with fear, that mixed some form of relief with great shame.

"And who are these men you have brought into my halls?"

"The Boltons, Lord Stark. They have made it their capital. They are the new wardens."

"You serve the same man that stabbed your brother in the heart?"

Reek could not look as he replied. His shame was too great, his crime to grievous. "Yes, that's all Reek can do."

"And you beg me for forgiveness? How can I? When you are serving his meals, changing his chamber pot, sweeping his floors or collecting his taxes? No Theon Greyjoy you will never be forgiven nor loved by anyone, not while you are this creature…this Reek."

"I can't I…I will always be Reek."

"No." Said the granite warden in a tone that brooked no argument. "I raised you as a man. I raised you alongside my sons."

"I am no one's man and no father's son. I'm Reek.

"Then why live? The tools are right there. Put the chisel in your throat and bleed here before me."

"I, I…" It was an interesting idea. _I would be free. Free of pain, free of guilt._ But Lord Stark read his mind like a book.

"No Theon. Should you die here, you will never be free. Men will curse your name and spit at your memory. You will die a creature, you will die a slave. A being with no will of its own. You must be an Ironborn again. You must be Theon Greyjoy. There is no greater pain then seeing what your enemies do to your legacy-"He interrupted the granite warden.

"No! I'M REEK! I'M REEK! I CAN'T BE LOVED! I CAN'T!" He couldn't stand Eddard Stark calling him that damned name. Theon Greyjoy was dead. Forever! He screamed at the granite lord. He picked up the tools that Lord Ramsay gave to him and frantically began chipping away the features of his father, his true father, crying the whole time and yelling the same name over and over again. "REEK! I'M REEK! REEK!"


	4. Chapter 4

Note: Thanks for all the views, reviews, favorites and follows. It means a lot. If you guys liked this story check out my other one on my profile, I hope you like that too. Chapter 5 I'll probably have next week.

Jon

"What is the meaning of this stupidity?" The King growled. The main hall was silent. "I have lent my men to rebuilt this run-down fortress, to fix your gate, to fix your stairs and war machines, to fletch arrows, to forge axes and swords and mail, to go and hunt, to sew your clothes and drill and train your _men_ and still you cannot find someone to lead you pack of indecisive, useless and ragged lot of curs!" Men were looking at each other red-faced, almost embarrassed by the King's scathing address. Others were hiding their faces by drinking out of empty cups or staring at the shields mounted on the walls. Jon could understand why the King was so aggrieved. It had been the third night in a row that no one man had the majority of votes to be elected as Lord Commander, they were losing time sitting here when they could be joining the King's and Queen's men preparing. _King Stannis only captured a thousand or so Wildlings. Maybe ninety-thousand still remain, we need to be ready when they return. If they return._ Jon shivered. If. Ninety-thousand wildlings was an intimidating threat once, but with the return of the Others…it could easily be ninety-thousand or more _wights_ marching towards the wall. The King rounded on. "I should place one of my own men to lead you, yes I should think that would be a quick solution for a drawn out problem."

Maester Aemon spoke "It is against custom your Grace too-"but the King savaged him no less with his words.

"I have little and less patience with customs and traditions, especially now when there is so much at stake. To my North I have ice demons and lawless barbarians breathing down the neck of the realm, throwing their strength at _my_ wall, to my south I have _live_ demons who harass and menace my subjects, donning false titles and coveting away the throne from its rightful successor. I understand that your war is as important is mine. I would say that your war is _mine._ This is why I cannot permit you to waste time and idle when action is needed. The wall must be held, and no matter who bars its teeth at it, it must stand. We all know the price of what will happen if the Night's Watch should fail it's centuries old oath to the guard the realms of men. I need a man who can hold the wall, who can bring the wildlings to heel, or to the sword should the need arise. I need someone to keep the Others away until I return with the realm's strength at my back."

"Why don't ya stay then?" Asked a wildling who had taken the black. Stannis had ordered that every wildling that did not pledge himself to his cause was free to join the Watch. It was _unpopular,_ to say the least, but orders aren't negotiable. Jon thought it was wiser this way. _The Wall is too undermanned. We need every able body we can get…and if the Others come. To them, we're just warm sacks of meat and blood._ He thought grimly. The recruit went on. "The Others be more dangerous than this lord or that!"

"And who are you to countermand a King you filthy little wildling!" Lord Janos snapped back, no doubt to curry favor from Stannis. _This man has high ambitions for himself, delusional ones._

"I can 'countermand' anyone I damn well please. You listen here, I bet you've never been north of the wall once! I have! It used ta be my home! It used to be our world. Aye, you bloody southerners had your wall and your titles and kings and lands and armies while we lived free! Then _they_ came." The new recruit paused and gathered himself before recalling some painful memory. "Some five years ago a village elder had visions, visions of t'Others. We thought him mad. He says he saw white shadows slither through the woods at night, beings with eyes as blue as the sky and a touch colder than the winds. His vision was right, no more than a week later the white shadows swept through our village, sitting on their dead horses and giant ice spiders. I escaped my village and spread the tale to everyone who'd hear me. They didn't believe until they saw them for themselves." He paused again. "I may not know much 'bout the world, can't read, can't sing or dance nor fight perfectly well as the rest of yeah, aye, I hated seeing Mance go like that. I could've joined your army, _King,_ but me thought that the battle at this wall here was more important than your ambition for a chair."

The hall was silent again. Many men in the hall had baffled looks on their faces. No one had ever talked to Stannis like that before. Stannis had the expression of a man weighing those words. _The man wasn't wrong._ Jon thought. Ser Allisar stood up from the bench he shared with Lord Janos and bellowed out towards the new recruit. "Aye, you may be our brother now, but this King saved us from the disaster your people would've brought upon the realm. Shut your trap and be thankful that King Stannis doesn't put you to the stake." Many of Ser Allisar's cronies bellowed in agreement. King Stannis stood careless at his words. Jon couldn't. This new brother had more honor in him than half the _men_ in the Watch, he would not let his voice be drowned out by the likes of _Ser_ Allisar or _Lord_ Janos. Jon got up from the bench he shared with Dolorous Edd and Sam and spoke to him. "What is your name?" He inquired.

"The name's Skorm."

 _Skorm. A man of the far North._ Jon nodded. "Your Grace. I do not think Skorm is wrong of what he says." His words were matched with cacophony of boos and shouts.

"It takes a wildling to agree with a wildling!" Lord Janos announced in a mocking tone. Many agreed with Lord Janos, others denounced. "He's just a bastard. Don't listen to what he says." He said as he added a cruel smirk on his face. _If you become Lord Commander, Lord Janos, the Wall will fall within the hour._

"He is a man of the Night's Watch, I will hear him." The King said sternly. "Go on Lord Snow." Lord Janos and Ser Allisar stopped their smiling and went silent. Jon continued. "Your Grace, you say that your war is ours. And we are thankful that you answered our call and saved us from Mance Rayder's host. But Skorm tells it true. The Lords and Kings who defied you are only men, but the Others are _demons._ They are coming for all of us. They will not discriminate between Baratheon or Lannister, Wildling or Subject, Northerner and Southerner, they will sweep down from the haunted forest and subdue every man, woman and child to their twisted cruelty. I was not there at the Battle of the Fist of the First Men, but my brothers have whispered their terror and fear. Once a Wight woke in the night and attacked Lord Commander Mormont in his tower. These are beasts and monsters, your Grace that terrified our ancestors. I think that the Night's Watch needs you here."

The King responded calmly. "We must all bear our burdens. Whether it is Kingship or protecting the Wall, we must each fulfill our duties. I am a King and I am sworn to protect and defend my realm. Part of that is to hold the wall, the other is to eliminate the thieves that steal away what is rightfully mine. The wall needs a commander, as much as the throne needs a King. A true King. The Iron Throne is no _chair,_ Skorm. The Iron Throne is a symbol of authority, of unity and stability. One King for one realm. The realm is very much like this wall, Lord Snow. It is in peril. The defiant lords and Kings aren't more sinister and dangerous than the Others, but they are no less deserving of the King's justice. They have broken and bled my realm and I will see that they are punished. I am the rightful King and I must act to win my crown. I would rather seat the throne and call upon the power of the west, the east, the north and south of my Kingdom to defend the wall rather than use the meager resources I have at my disposal now. As a man of the Night's Watch, none of you may care for the politics of the South. But as King, it is my business. It is my war. I am the guardian of the realm as much as you are the watcher on the wall. When I have united the seven kingdoms in peace, I will muster my forces and complete my ultimate destiny. I swear it."

And the hall resounded with applause from the King's and Queen's men that filled it. All of the Night's Watch men were quiet as Stannis' men chanted. "Stannis! Stannis! Stannis!"

Old Maester Aemon stood up again from his table. "Your Grace, who would you recommend to take charge of the Night's watch then?"

"I don't know any men here personally. I couldn't cast judgement."

"Your Grace." Ser Allisar said in a grisly tone. "You must know Lord Janos. Who better to command than one who commanded the gold cloaks in King's Landing?"

"Him?" Stannis asked incredulously.

"Who better?" Lord Janos asked with a triumphant smile on his face.

"Anyone else I should think. Even the cook would be a better option." As soon as those words left Stannis' mouth, Lord Janos turned a shade of red not unlike a tomato. Jon couldn't help but smirk.

"But he was commander of the city watch your grace." Ser Allisar tried to appeal.

"And the first one in history to sell positons in the city's defence for coin. You were the subject of controversy Lord Janos, if it had been me instead of Robert as King, I would seat the Iron Throne almost as comfortably as you would sit in a jail cell." Laughter rang out through the hall. Lord Janos tried to hide his face but he couldn't escape the embarrassment. The King went on. "You are all free to leave. This time tomorrow, I will have a Lord Commander. Or, I will trap you in this hall until you do. Is that understood? Well?"

"Yes, your grace." The crowd grumbled.

The King gave a curt nod and strode out of the hall along with his men. Jon left the hall not waiting for Edd or Sam to join him, and went to his chamber. He wanted to be left alone for a while and think. _If Janos Slynt wins, he'll find any excuse to kill me. He thinks me a turn-cloak, a deserter and traitor._ Although that thought bothered him less now after the absolute spanking Stannis gave him in the hall. Jon was most troubled by the departure of Stannis from the wall. _We need a strong man here to lead us when the night is darkest. Cotter Pyke and Denys Mallister are good men and reliable commanders, but we need a man of iron._ No Lord Commander in eight thousand years had to face the combined threat of a wildling horde and the legions of Ice demons. _This ordeal will harden or break the Night's Watch._ It was a futile attempt to convince Stannis to remain at the wall, but in the end the King was right. _His duty was to the throne and ours is to the wall._ Besides, they didn't even have enough food to feed this many men, and if the wildlings and Others were marching in force could they really stop them? Jon had seen an Other only once before. He still remembered how it trekked through the haunted woods outside of Craster's keep when it snatched Craster's son. _With creatures like that who stir, it seems pointless to feud and fight with men._

Sometimes in his mind, Jon could still see Stannis' cavalry charge decimate Mance's host, but that victory seemed so hollow. It seemed so pointless. _It should be wights and Others that should be burning, not people._ Jon thought to himself.

All these troubling thoughts made it difficult for Jon to sleep. He decided that shooting some arrows into targets would take matters off his mind. If that was even possible. He left his chambers, took a torch off a sconce on the wall and went down into the courtyard. He was meet with a cold rush that took snowflakes along with it. He could only have loosed one arrow into the target when he felt a warm tap on his shoulder. He turned around quickly, surprised to find the Red Woman standing behind him.

"My lady." He said nervously. "What brings you?"

The Red Woman smiled. "His Grace wishes for an audience with you. Will you come?"

"Yes, of course. Where is he?"

"Atop the wall."

The Red Woman led the way to the lift as Jon followed behind. "Are you not cold my lady?" Jon asked as the ground beneath them distanced itself further them with every passing second. After all, she was only wearing her thin red dress that earned her the nickname 'red woman.' But she only smiled again and replied. "The fire of our Lord burns in me, Jon. Life is full of light and warmth. Feel." She said. She grasped Jon's gloved hand in hers and took it to her cheek. Even through the mole skin, Jon could feel the warmth radiating from her. "Death is full of darkness and cold." She added.

"And full of terrors. Or so I am told." Jon answered slyly. The two shared a laugh.

"You've learned the prayers?" She smiled, she had a beautiful smile. "Good."

"Any man would've by now, we hear them every night."

"And rightly so, Jon. R'hollor is a wise and powerful ally, you will need his help one day." Before Jon could ask what that was supposed to mean they had reached the top of the wall. The cool breeze was blowing with greater ferocity up here, but any man would easily forget that when looking at the mid-night sky. Millions upon millions of bright white fireflies dangled high in the sky, outshone only the sheets of green, blue and purple lights that twisted and curved and cascading with the clouds. Jon could lose himself in the simple beauty of the night, if only he knew that the night didn't herald the coming of monsters. The King and his Hand were overlooking the vast expense and whispering between themselves.

"I don't think he'll take it your Grace."

"We must first see, Lord Davos. We must see."

"Your Grace, my hand, I bring you the bastard of Winterfell." Melisandre announced.

The two men turned round and Jon went to one knee. Stannis bid him to stand up. He did.

"I would've waited until the morning to call upon you Lord Snow, but Lord Davos and I have been talking endlessly between ourselves, think and planning but to no avail. The business at hand brooked no further delay and I had wished to speak to you much sooner."

 _What could he want from me?_ "What would you have of me, your Grace?"

"I would know who you are. I would know if you are truly Eddard Stark's son." None of what the King was saying made any sense.

"Sire, I fear I don't understand."

"I've been told that you're bastard, a liar, a murderer, an oath-breaker, a deserter, a traitor and a wildling." The words cut deeper into Jon than a stab wound. These were no easy accusations to swallow, these were affronts on his honor.

"Your Grace, of all these grievances put against me I am guilty of only the first one. The rest are lies."

"Lies?"

"Or they misunderstand. I was ranging with the half-hand when we were captured by wildlings. He commanded me to kill him in order to gain their trust and join their ranks, only so that I could learn their plans to attack the wall. It's true, your Grace, that I donned a different cloak but in my heart I never forgot my vows. In my heart I was true and loyal to the Night's Watch." Jon had pleaded this over and over again to those who doubted his conscience, and still there were some who named them thus.

"I have heard that you broke your vow with a wildling girl." The King said.

Jon sighed. _Ygritte_. He thought. _My greatest pride and shame. "_ The half-hand ordered me to do anything to wildlings commanded of me. I could not balk, he said."

"And this woman commanded you to…"

"She wanted proof that I was one of her folk, that I wasn't a man of the Night's Watch."

"What can I make of that Lord Snow?"

Jon sighed again. "I can only tell you that I did what was asked so I could carry on duty to serve the Watch. A man in Mance Rayder's army was worth a thousand for the Watch." He paused. "But I cannot lie to you your Grace. I did love that girl and to say that I hated her for what she made me do would be dishonest. We were close and sometimes I think of her." That had made Jon terribly sad. The night didn't seem as beautiful as it once was.

"I see."

"Your Grace you must believe me. I swear on Winterfell, on my lord father Eddard Stark, that the Watch is my only duty. That my sword, my life and my heart will bleed for the watch." The King seemed displeased by that. Jon took that for the worst. He was ready to hear the King say, "They were right about you." Or "Eddard Stark would spit to see what his bastard has become." Instead the King gave a short reply.

"I believe you. _"What?_ Jon was expected a scolding. "I would rather take the word of Eddard Stark's son than that craven Janos, who incessantly tries to lick my boot and his equally unpleasant creature, Allisar Thorne. I have heard that you led a ranging to avenge the death of Lord Commander Mormont that you forewarned the attack of the wildlings on both sides of the wall and held the wall at the darkest hour."

"If you knew these things why did you ask me your Grace?" _Some political mind game I don't doubt._

"I would hear all the judgements made on a man before I can trust him, including yours. You have a prestigious family, Lord Snow. Your Father was Warden and _Hand,_ and your brother deemed himself a King. Your Father took my position as Hand, but gave up his life for my claim, something I will never forget. Your brother rebelled against his true King and wanted to steal half my Kingdom, but I cannot question his bravery nor his courage. What about you? What do say for yourself?"

 _What can I say?_ "I am a man of the Night's Watch. My Lord Father and brother were great men and strong leaders. I'm only a bastard."

"A bastard whose father was Eddard Stark. Your name may deny you, but you have his blood."

 _I would be a Stark if lady Catelyn would've allowed it._ "I'm a snow. Always have been. Always will be." There was a long pause between the two of them, a silence that was shattered when a wolf howled in the distance.

"Do you know who sits in your father's hall, who sleeps in your father's bed and dines at your father's table?"

Jon had known the answer to well. _Roose Bolton._ He had murdered Robb and his mother at his uncle's wedding. It was said that Robb's men were burnt alive, his dire wolf head sewed to his body and paraded around the towers. Many were taken prisoner, all this at a wedding. _Was there ever a betrayal so hideous, so insulting to the laws of Gods and Men?_ Jon remembered the day when he received the news about how his own brother was butchered. Grief filled his heart with pain and sorrow had filled his eyes with tears. An overwhelming sense of helpless crushed him then as it was beginning to sweep over him now. He could feel himself beginning to crack under the painful memory, he tried to blink back a tear in his eye. He would not cry before a King. Stannis nodded his head solemnly.

"It was stupid to ask." He said. "Your brother Robb was a rebel and traitor-"Jon cut him off.

"I loved him." He said defiantly. He would not allow this pretender to besmirch his brother's name.

"I loved my brother too. But they were the men they were, and we are the men we are. We cannot chose our duties, we cannot chose our destiny. But we must fulfill it all the same. Do you not wish to raise that Valyrian sword of yours and cut the Lord of the Dreadfort in half?"

"Greatly sire, but I must remain here. I am a man of the Night's Watch now."

"But you need not remain one Lord Snow." The Onion knight answered. "Roose Bolton aims to solidify his hold on the North through legitimacy. He wishes to wed your half-sister, Sansa, to his bastard Ramsay. Lords and Ladies across the North have come to Winterfell to witness the union."

"It's impossible. My half-sister has been blamed for the death of Joffery. Roose Bolton would be insane to enrage Tywin Lannister by allowing this. Tywin Lannister was the one who gave him his wardenship. When he finds out Lannister armies will march through the North."

"Men like Roose Bolton know only reward and nothing of loyalty." The Onion Lord answered.

"Besides, the Lannister's cannot bite down on parts of the realm as they used too. Tywin Lannister is dead. His dwarf son pierced his heart with a crossbow bolt." _Tyrion? The man was kind to me. Could he really?_

"And what of him? The Imp?"

"He's since fled the capital and nowhere to be found. Roose Bolton thinks himself exceedingly clever at taking this opportunity since Sansa's husband is gone and her father in law is dead. But I too have a great opportunity." He stated that looking straight at Jon. "With Tywin dead and rotting, nothing stops me from descending on the North and weeding out the parasites the dwell within it. You have seen already how I deal with those that bleed and pick away at my realm."

"You were especially quick to burn Mance Rayder."

"Indeed. This realm knows only one King and it will have it. But I will need the North, and to take the North I'll need you."

 _Me?_ "I'm only a bastard, sire. A man of the Night's Watch."

"I need a loyal Northman, a Stark that men will rally around and obey. A man who will hold Wardenship of the North and claim Winterfell as their rightful seat and home. A man who will be loyal and swear fealty to his King. You are that man Lord Snow. With you by my side, the Northern Lords will see that my cause is truer. They have no reason to love me, but they love the Starks and they despise the Boltons. With you by my side, Lord Bolton's claim to legitimacy is null."

This was too much to fathom. How could a bastard, traitor, deserter, liar, wildling, murderer and oath-breaker possibly even dare to aspire to his father's seat and brother's throne? _Who am I to claim the loyalty of the Northern Lords? Who am I to even dare to dream this? Winterfell belongs to Sansa, to Arya, to Bran and Rickon and their heirs. I loved them. I always loved them. I would never want to steal what is theirs._ "You forget your Grace, I'm a bastard."

" _You_ forget Jon." The red woman said. "A King has the power to wipe away the stain of bastardy."

"Kneel before me, lay your sword at my feet, swear me your fealty, take the Red God as your own and you will arise as Jon _Stark,_ Warden of the North, trueborn son of Lord Eddard Stark and Lord of Winterfell." Stannis replied. "I will even give you a wife. Sister in law of Mance Rayder, Val, she is comely. With your marriage, I am assured the loyalty of my new wildling subjects and guaranteed some heirs."

"But, I am a man of the Night's Watch. I swear an oath before a Weirwood tree."

"Swearing an oath to a tree is no better than swearing an oath to your shoes, or your clothes." The red woman said.

"You let me deal with your oaths and Night's Watch, Lord Snow, I believe some arrangement can be made."

This was all too much to understand. "My King, if you would permit me to sleep and think on this. It is no small burden you ask of me. This duty, this honor. I, I, I must think and think hard about a decision like this. Will you allow me?"

The King nodded. "Very well Lord Snow. You may have some time to decide, a week I would say. I will soon send out letters demanding the homage of the Northern Lords and I must know whether I will seal it with the burning red heart or the white dire wolf."

"Yes my King." Jon went to one knee and turned to leave when Stannis called at him again.

"Lord Snow? Say nothing about what we discussed today."

"Yes sire." And Jon walked away and left the three of them to discuss what had happened.

He would have to make one of the hardest decisions in his life within the next week. _It was difficult choosing between Robb and the wall, but then Robb had all the North at his side and could've won. I could've been executed as a deserter. Now, I could be released of my oaths and my bastard birth. I could succeed my brother and save my sister. And yet, what kind of man would I be if were to break my oath to the watch again? But if a have a royal pardon…_ the thoughts raced through Jon's mind quicker than shooting stars across the night sky. There were so many things to consider, so many parts of this burden and honor that would require countless nights to think. Sadly he only had a week. Marriage, Winterfell, Sansa, the Boltons, the North, Stannis, the Iron Throne, the Others, the Wildlings, the Wall, the Watch and his honor, his shame, his gods or god…all these were gains and sacrifices that would be made either if he accepted or refused. But on thing was very clear. Tonight, Jon would go to sleep as a bastard and man of the Night's Watch, tomorrow he could sleep as a Stark and warden of the North.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry for the wait guys

Davos

 _Stale._ Ser Davos thought as he spat out the grey meat pie he had the misfortune of tasting. _The Lazy Eel_ was perhaps the filthiest inn that he had ever visited in his life, there was green mould-moist and smelly-that grew between the floor boards. The meat pie he just tried felt like it came out of a mule's backside than out of an oven, and the ale tasted sour and rancid. He had no wish to be in this rat hole of tavern, but there was no better place to pick up rumours. Besides he needed a place to rest, the journey here to Whiteharbour was exhausting.

 _If only the boy had accepted, we would have had a Stark for our Warden. Northern Houses would have pledged their swords and their fealty to our cause._ But there was no point on brooding on the past, Jon Snow had made his choice, and he chose his duty over his desire. No doubt the decision was difficult either way for the boy, but it put the King in a difficult position. "What should we do now, sire?' Davos Seaworth had asked him then in Castle Black.

"I will admit, I did not anticipate that he would refuse. Every bastard child of a high lord yearns to use their father's name. Every bastard." _Bastardy is a cruel curse to suffer._

"It appears that the boy is made of sterner stuff than most." Davos had said then. It was true, bastard or not, Jon Snow is his father's son. A man chained to honor.

The King sighed then. "It doesn't matter, if he chooses to stay in this icy hell that his decision." The King added in disappointment. Stannis Baratheon was hardly a patient man, yet when he heard the news of the boy's refusal he took it with surprising calm. Although the disappointment was clear in his voice. "I had taken your advice and named another Warden should our would-be Stark fail us."

"Mors Umber, your Grace? He's a strong Northman and he's not sworn himself to House Bolton." Davos guessed.

The King grit his teeth. "No, not while his brother fights under the flayed man banner. I had thought to name Arnolf Karstark." The king said confidently. "For now at least." He said less confidently. "He'll make for us a strong, stern and steadfast warden. His blood is not too far from Eddard Stark's line and he's a hardened Northman like the rest of them. They would be sure to follow him after Lord Bolton and his ilk are ash at the stake. He had even pledged his men to my cause before I had sent letters demanding homage. Such initiative must rewarded Lord Davos."

"Your Grace, the Northmen will never follow a warden who isn't Stark while Lady Sansa lives."

"Lady Sansa is a seventeen year old girl in the clutches of a ruthless and heartless man. Once she outlives her usefulness, that is bearing his wretched bastard a son, she'll be like all the other Starks. Dead." Stannis said grimly. _Our world must be twisted beyond repair for a man to say that, and not be far from the truth._ Davos shivered and spoke again.

"Then we must make for Winterfell with haste then. If you do not anticipate her to live long…."

"I'll break beneath the walls of Winterfell with the men I have now. I need more, I need more lords to take up my cause." The King had looked down the long, brown map that detailed every northern forest and hall and fort. "It is good, for now, that Arnolf Karstark-"

Davos interrupted him. "Your Grace, I counsel caution around this man. I welcome that he has decided to join us, but his eagerness is suspicious." _No other Northern Lord has matched his zeal. Desperation nor survival make a man loyal to a cause. It is faith and sincerity. And Lord Karstark is the first two, not the last._ Davos thought to himself, when he was thinking why he himself served King Stannis.

"I had thought the same, until Lord Snow told me that Lord Karstark had little choice. Lord Karstark's nephew, Rickard, had been beheaded by the Young wolf for killing _Lannister_ captives. Lord Tywin's own nephews. If he's wise enough to see that I am key in his House's survival then so be it."

Davos Seaworth had made a face of disappointment. _King Stannis had begun this war with the fewest men, yet all believed and died for him. Will he end it with men who will scurry away at the promise of more gold and pardons? No._ Davos thought. _I am just a smuggler. A criminal who got into good graces with the right powerful man. Who am I to question the integrity of others?_

"You disapprove?" King Stannis said in a droll tone.

"Your Grace I'm but a humble man. I'm in no position to approve or disapprove of better men than I am. Especially a King."

"If I wanted a Hand to lick my boots I would've put the badge on Ser Alastair Florent. Instead I chose you. I would have you tell me the truth. Your truth."

"Our position is difficult your Grace. The men we have are good, strong and fierce. But they are few. If more and more men fight under your banner whose loyalty is only as solid as the gold they request…or the promise of incomes or pardons, we will be out-bought, out sold and out-manned every time." _We have had the fewest men, and yet somehow Stannis is the only King out of five that has survived. Joffery, Balon, Robb and Renly have all perished. They all had more prestige and gold and yet we have survived._ But who was we? King Stannis had lost nearly all his sworn lords and men after the battle of Blackwater and for months on end, the castle was besieged by the fear that Tywin Lannister would raise a new fleet and crush Dragonstone into dust. _I had lost four sons on the Blackwater. And my luck. Lord Axell Florent had lost his life to the Red Woman's flames and Dragonstone had lost its sept._ What had really survived?

"Have you lost faith smuggler?" His Grace asked irritably.

"Never. I have lived as your loyal man, and will die as you need me. We only have some one thousand five hundred men. We need more. We need the Northern Lords. Your Grace should not stop at Lord Karstark-"

The King had interrupted him then. "But we won't stop at Lord Karstark, if I can snatch away more of Lord Eddard's banner men from under Roose Bolton's clutches the better. I'll send Ravens to Bear Isle, to Last Hearth, to Castle Cerwyn, Whiteharbour and even Winterfell itself. I want the whole of the North to know of my arrival, Lord Davos. I want the people of the North to know that their _true_ King has arrived, and that his enemies are theirs. I want the people to know that I crushed the wildling horde that would have overturned the wall and conquered every Northern Hall and Castle before Roose Bolton could even make it up the Neck. I want men and women in the North to either hear my name and speak it with praise, or shudder with fear, it makes no matter. I want the North to know that I was not finished after the Battle of Blackwater. That I will never retreat again. The North needs to know that my cause is still well and truly alive, and it is the truest. The realm believed I was beaten at King's Landing. And now I will have the realm learn that I am still fighting, and that I am not done with those who have made my Kingdom drown in blood. I have told you before Lord Davos. I will not forget that. I will not forgive it. Not while I am alive, not while I still call myself King."

The words were memorable and powerful in Davos Seaworth's mind. They repeated themselves over and over again in times of doubt and despair. He knew that his King's path was the most righteous, and that there was no man more just, nor a man more prepared to lead a Kingdom through a long winter and a war against the enemy of mankind itself, the Others. It made Davos Seaworth feel pride and it made him feel right.

But, as he was sitting in the miserable dirty inn and recollecting the bold speech the King made him, he could not summon up that feeling of courage and optimism he had once felt all the way back at Castle Black. Stannis Baratheon had commanded him to ride, _hard,_ for Eastwatch and take Sallador Saan's fleet down to Whiteharbour. Stannis Baratheon needed the Northern Lords to rally at his side, so His Grace thought it best for his Hand to speak to the Lord of Whiteharbour and secure his allegiance. _If Winterfell is the heart of the North, then Whiteharbour is the mouth._ King Stannis had not underestimated the strategic importance of city, even though it's Lord-Wyman Manderly-was a weak, indecisive and cowardly man. _They say he's huge as well, and that's his best quality._ Davos thought solemnly. _Will he be strong enough to defy his new warden, even after he murdered his King at his liege lord's wedding?_ Whiteharbour was essential. It had silver and a port that could remain functional during the winter. _The Lannisters have wealth and HighGarden has the men. The Freys have hostages and the Boltons have Lady Stark. The King needs his own secret weapon. His own card to play._ That card needed to be Whiteharbour.

The mission had _looked_ to be simple. In reality it was a nightmare. The journey from one fort to another went smoothly enough, but from Eastwatch to the Inn he occupied now turned horrible. Storms, crackling winds and giant waves had torn the fleet of twenty-one ships to pieces. The skies were nearly always dark and as thunder and bellowed throughout the dark sky, lighting stabbed and pierced the sea. Ships sunk and men along with them. Oars would snap and sails would be torn and ripped off by the violent winds. Sometimes ships could collide, other times they would just be taken of course. _It would be a miracle if even half those ships survived the hell storm._ Sallador Saan was enraged when his prized _Valyrian,_ capsized. His patience with the Kings unfulfilled promises and lack of gold had run its course when he rounded on the former smuggler.

" _King_ Stannis is paying for every one of the ships with the exact gold he promised! Every one! How can you call him a King when he cannot even keep his promise? Hmm? It is unfair, I am thinking…very unfair. Sallador Saan wants the gold he waited so very long for. My men are tired and hungry, and your _King,_ only feds them with half-lies and empty promises. Hmm? Why doesn't His Grace go to other pirates and smugglers and ask for fealty while offering them promises, he would not get far I am thinking. Sallador Saan must be the most loyal of pirates to stay with a sinking ship for so very long."

The King's Hand had tried to counsel patience with the rouge. The pirate's payment rested solely on King Stannis' ascension to the throne. After all, it would be foolish to think that a victorious King Tommen would pay off his defeated, disgraced uncle's debts. But Davos Seaworth had failed. Where perhaps a more sharp tongued man, a more learned, better man would've convinced the pirate to remain dedicated…Lord Davos had failed and Sallador Saan flew into an even greater rage.

"Patience? Loyalty? I am a pirate! No? Do I not steal from other ships? Perhaps I have remained too long in a poor King's service that you mistake me for some Knight, I am thinking. Sallador Saan spits on your King's cause, and his promises and his oaths. Why should I fight for him when he gives nothing to me? Sallador Saan wants _gold_ Ser…Lord Davos- I am no Knight or Lord who loves his King. Stannis had money once, money he had once paid me with. That money disappeared long ago, long ago when Sallador Saan saw men scream and burn at Dragonstone and later at the Blackwater. Promises and patience will not suffice I am thinking. I cannot repair ships, I cannot hire men with promises and patience! Bah! I cannot eat and drink on loyalty, I cannot stuff it in my bed and fuck it until it squeals. My men are tired, onion lord. They want to kiss their wives, hug their sons and fuck their whores, will patience and promises give them that?"

The words had stung for two reasons. For one, they had come out of the mouth of an old friend. _Salla and I have gotten each other in and out of trouble for years, he drank at my wedding and I drank at four of his. We had shared a deck once under the same sails and shared some of our profits. We fought under the same King and watched as the Blackwater was set ablaze._ Davos Seaworth depressingly to himself. _I loved the old rogue and he was a good friend of mine. He saved me._ Davos realized, a fact that he had forgotten. It felt like a thousand years ago, when the Gods stole four of his sons and left him on wretched piece of rock to die. _I would've died there, cold, hungry and broken. I would've never seen Steffon, Daven or Stanny. I would've never seen Marya or our home._ Another terrible thought raced into his mind. _And I still might not…_ Davos Seaworth took another gulp of the vile wine…or whatever was in that cup and spit some of it out.

Davos Seaworth had liked Sallador Saan and he owed him a debt that could never be repaid. But he had never trusted him, not truly. _The man was a pirate, through and through._ More importantly, Sallador Saan was _right._ Stannis Baratheon had been the poorest of the five Kings for the entire war. Renly had commanded the wealth and swords of the storm lords, Joffery had his grand-father's gold mines, Robb Stark had the entire north at his back and even Balon Greyjoy had more gold. _Stannis has men who will follow him if he marches to the lands of Always Winter itself, but those men are only a thousand. He will need more, and they will not bleed for him if he does not have gold for them._

Salladoor Saan and his men would not sail an inch further towards Whiteharbour, but at the same time the old rogue would not simply leave Davos Seaworth to the mercy of the Hell storm. "You should forget this worthless journey, Davos Seaworth. We are beneath the concerns of this King and that, I am thinking. Come with us, Lord Davos. We will put behind the poor King's promise and loyalty and sail for gold! Hmm? Imagine, think for a second, all those ships bound for Pentos. Hmm? Hulls filled with jewels and silks that could be ours. Imagine your Lady Marya dressed in silks, imagine your sons drinking out of jeweled goblets? Be free Lord Davos. Don't you want to feel what it means to have the wind in the sail, a wench in your bed, and gold snuggled between your fingers? It is good, I am thinking. Salladoor Saan will be most happy, and most rich as well. And so you too." The pirate had said with excitement in his voice.

But Davos Seaworth found no words that could bring the pirate joy on that wretched ship on that stormy night. "King Stannis made me his Hand because I was his most loyal man. And I will continue to be. Stannis Baratheon did not send me out to desert him and flee. I have a duty and I will persevere through it."

"Why?" Salladoor Saan asked.

"Because I am a King's Hand now. And I would rather die a loyal man, a trusted man whose wife and children speak well of, rather than live as an oath breaker and turn cloak."

That had displeased Salladoor Saan. "You will suffer for your pride Davos Seaworth. You will finish like the rest of those men on the Blackwater. Dead and forgotten. You are not a Hand. You are a simple man Davos."

There were no words to be said between them. Just a cold hard stare passed between the former friends. Each man had his own desire and each man would not budge from his path. Davos Seaworth broke off their glare, and headed down the cabin. _You're mad. You're mad._ Davos remembered as he descended down to his cabin that miserable night on the sea. He grabbed a cloth sack and threw in there paper, twelve gold pieces, three stamps, a dagger, a peach to ward to off scurvy and two loaves of bread. _Men will say I am mad._ Davos had thought then. Even now as he was sitting in the putrid Inn, he wondered to himself who he managed to survive the journey. Some kind of stupidity or frustration must have overtaken him there, else he would not have tried it ever in his life. The winds were quick and ripping over the tide and the waves were unpredictable, punching and pawing at the side of Salladoor's ship. If the torrent that befell them could strike down a proud ship like the _Valyrian_ then how could a simple old onion smuggler brave the tides on a row boat?

 _The warrior must have been with me that night._ Davos pondered as he took another gulp of the bile sitting at the bottom of his cup. This time he decided to chew what they passed off as ale before he spat it out.

"You are a fool, do you know that Lord Davos Seaworth?" Salladoor Saan had asked him as his crew had lowered him into the hungry sea. Salladoor Saan's own voice was muffled by the howling of the wind and whip of the rain on his sails. _I am a fool._ Davos Seaworth thought in response. _But I am also the King's Hand._ It must have been some kind of misplaced pride, some feeling of duty that made him dare to test those waves. "Lord Seaworth, give up the folly. It will be your death I am thinking!" The waves were just about to scratch the underside of his row boat, the current pushing and pulling, the rudder rocking and quaking from left to right as Salladoor said those words. But Davos did not even spare him a parting glance. His hands wear on his oars and his eyes straight towards the coastline. _Whiteharbour or not, I must at least try._ His expression was stern and his focus undeterred. Salladoor Saan called out for the last time as his men were loosening the ropes. "I will send your bones back to your wife, Davos Seaworth! This King will be the death of you!" And with that the ropes loosened and the old smuggler was at the mercy of the waves. Left, right, forwards and backwards they shook the rowboat furiously. Water spilled in and spilled out. Lightning split the sky, bleeding it with light and thundered bellowed in his ears. The small rowboat was tossed between the waves, as if the both of them were only toys between the fingers of an angry child. Within a moment Davos Seaworth had lost sight of Salladoor's Saan's fleet and all that lay before him was troubled dark water. He was soaked to the bone, but still he rowed on through the hell-torrent. On and off the waves would struggle with his meager vessel, tossing it this way and that and smashing and grabbing as much of the boat as it could beneath the waves. _I'm mad. I'm mad._ There was no way he could've known where he was going. He could not navigate using the shore nor the stars, but he could not remain on Salladoor's ship as it was getting further and further from his goal. Davos Seaworth took a brief pause from the oars and tied the bag to his left wrist. Inside the bag were three stamps. A white stamp in the shape of a hand, a red stamp in the shape of a dancing fiery stag, and a black one in the shape of an onion. _If I am going to drown, at least let them find me with these at my side. Let them know I died a true man. A Hand._ The thunder rumbled again. _If they find me…_

Minutes had turned into hours and hours into days, nothing could be kept track off while the thunder boomed and yelled from atop the dark clouds as the waves churned and spit forth in reply. Eventually Davos' world became as black as the stormy sky and darkness fell all around him. He would awake again in the darkness. He had been spared the rain and the ripping wind at least. He was awake in a cavern, with a chain circled around his left ankle and to the rocky wall. He had a change of clothes. Instead of wearing his usual green and brown garments he was dressed in a thin rough spun tunic. His wrists were bound by a rope that was chafing the skin off and he was _cold._ As soon as he had opened his eyes he had shivered violently. The four small wax candles that had surrounded him did little in giving him warmth. His bag was gone. _Whose put me here? What will they do to me?_ Davos had thought in panic. Thunder and pummeling waves still clashed against the cavern he was kept captive in, but there were other noises along with his worried thoughts. Footsteps. Out of the darkness came two guard's men from the look of it. It was too dark to tell what sigil they wore, but without any words they undid the chain that bound his ankle to the wall and brought him with them. It was a short walk, one done in complete silence. They brought him to what looked like to be a great hall. But it was hard to tell for sure, only a few torches were lit upon the scones on the wall, and other light could only be seen was the occasional flashes of white and blue from the thunder outside.

"So this is him?" Asked a voice further in the darkness.

"Yes m'lord."

"Well? Bring him closer. It's always so dark in this damn hall." The two guards brought him closer to the lord's voice. They had stopped a foot away from a long wooden table. Seated in front of them was what Davos perceived to be the lord they were speaking too. He was fat and old and by what Davos could make of his face, ugly. "Ah, so he's the one you found? Right then." He looked to Davos. "You can take a seat." Davos did as he was told as the lord spoke to the guards. "He was never here, understand?"

"Yes m'lord." The guards responded at once and strode away. The lord then called for a serving lady.

"Martha, get me that tomato stew and some bread. This man here hasn't eaten in days." Somewhere in the dark hall a voice replied and set off to its task. _Bread under his roof, I should be safe. For a night at least._ "How are you? And why are you here?" The lord questioned further.

Davos did not respond immediately, he was wary of the man sitting ahead from him. He had no clue who he was or what he wanted. Or which King he served. "Sire, I did not think to be here."

"Aye, but we found you here all the same. Your row-boat was on my shore, crippled ad nearly torn in two while you were sitting there under the storm, muttering and cursing and shivering. They say that you tried to pay men to get off the island." _Island? Where have the seven taken me._ Davos answered, trying to make as much sense as possible.

"And Island sire? I, don't remember anything. I just remember the storm and the sea. I remember being thrown back and forth across the waves." Even as he tried to recall the conversation he had with the lord in the dark hall that night, he still couldn't remember trying to buy himself away from where he crashed. He remembered none of it. He didn't remember where, why, or how. He couldn't remember how he ended up in the lord's dungeon. Davos simply shook his head at the thoughts and took another bite of the grey pie before he spit it out.

"You don't remember?" The lord asked on.

"No, my lord." He answered.

"So then who are you?" Davos hesitated again. He was worried. He tried making up names for himself on the spot. _Arnold, Samuel, Arthur._ He was unsure whether to lie or tell the truth. _He already has my bag. The guards may have already told him of my hand. By now he must know who I am. He's just testing me._

"I am Davos Seaworth, Hand to King Stannis Baratheon."

The lord nodded again as the serving woman put Davos' soup and bread on the table.

"Yes. You are well known across the realm for your onions, and your shortened fingers. Men speak much of you."

 _Not well of me._ "What do they say my lord?"

"They call you a criminal. A coward who hides behind dark sails on dark tides. A man who bought his lordship with a crate of onions. An up jumped smuggler." _None of that is wrong._ Davos thought to himself as sullenly as the lord went on. "They call you a traitor and a turncloak-"

"My lord," Davos interrupted quickly. "Many of those things that men say of me, I am, but I swear I never betrayed my King. I never turned against his cause."

"Yes, but your King is a traitor to the realm. He's started a war and has brought nothing but misery, defeat and bloodshed. If you are loyal to that kind of man, what does that make _you_?"

 _A fool._ "King Stannis is the rightful King, he has a blood right to the throne. The Lannisters have stolen it from him. _They_ have plunged the realm into fire and blood."

"Robert's own son reigns on that throne."

"The child is a bastard born of incest." Davos was wondering if the ravens that Stannis had sent across Westeros with the news had reached the hall he was in now. "My lord, did you not hear-"

"Everyone _heard."_ The lord cut in quickly. "I just wanted to know if you yourself believed in the rumor, and that you're not some parrot here to squawk whatever your master tells you." The lord then took the bowl of tomato soup in front of Davos. Davos instinctively lurched forward for the bowl but held himself back. _I should not assume._ He thought then.

"Did you want some? You don't want this tripe." He said as he was sipping the tomato soup off his spoon. "You're an honest man. A man with integrity. Rare to find these days. You should have a better meal. MARTHA! FISH!" Davos turned his head to see a figure behind scurry into further darkness. "So, what does Stannis Baratheon want of me?" He said as he looked to Davos.

"As I said my lord, I had not wished to land here. His Grace doesn't ask anything of you." _Yet._ "But If I could ask. Who are you my lord?"

"Fair question." The lord said as he was sucking the last of the tomato soup out of the wooden bowl. The man devoured very quickly. "A fair question from an honest man. I am Lord Godric Borrel, and you are in Sisterton."

Sisterton was the largest of three tiny isles in the narrow sea. Davos had been

"Lord Godric. I beg of you, please allow me off your land. I have urgent business to attend to."

"Where?" Lord Godric said. Davos wasn't sure whether he should answer the question. But remaining silent wasn't a better option for him. And since he couldn't think of a convincing lie, he told the truth.

"King Stannis needs Whiteharbour swords and port for his campaign in the North. He had sent me to speak for him in the Merman's court to Lord Wyman Manderly himself."

"You are some distance from Whiteharbour, Davos Seaworth."

"I know my lord. If you will give me leave-"

"Where are the pirates that your King has hired? Wouldn't they sail with you?" Lord Godric asked abruptly. "We saw their ships circle around our waters…"

 _Were they looking for me?_ Davos took a moment to think. What would he tell him? He couldn't' speak of the betrayal. Lords across the realm already knew what a weak position King Stannis was in, mentioning what Salla had done would not fix matters. _One day men will learn that Salladoor Saan abandoned Stannis' cause, but they will not hear it from my mouth._ "King Stannis has sent his fleet south to assail ships near Blackwater bay." He lied. "He means to give the boy King and his mother something else to worry about. He is not finished with them." Davos said in the most confident tone he could muster at the time.

"Aye. But they are finished with him. And so is the realm."

"Not so my Lord. Stannis Baratheon is at the wall as we speak. He has smashed the wildling host and will march his men down to crush the Boltons as well."

"Stannis Baratheon has the least men, the least gold, and the least lords at his side. He is marked a traitor to the realm by the Iron Throne and unless anyone would want to risk making an enemy of House Lannister and House Tyrell, then they will refuse him. He will perish along with his claim. Tell me, would Stannis Baratheon pay for your ransom? Does even have the gold for it?"

 _Would he?_ Davos pondered as he stabbed the mucked up mess on his wooden plate that was supposed to be his meat pie. _Would Stannis have paid to have me released?_ It was a queer thought. Strange now as it was strange that night in Lord Godric's hall. _Would Stannis have paid for a simple smuggler such as me? The King has more hair on his chin then gold in his coffer._ Davos bid the serving wench in the tavern to take his plate away.

"I'll take that silence to mean _no._ It doesn't matter anyways, Cersei Lannister will pay me more for you."

"Does Sisterton not owe allegiance to the Vale, to Lysa Arryn?" Davos thought he would have a better chance with here than with Cersei Lannister.

"We've no love for the Arryns here. Besides she's dead. Suicide is what they say. Lord Baelish rules the Vale. For now. Besides Cersei Lannister is a _Lannister._ And they do have habit of paying debts. I could use that ransom money. I've got seven sons, all them want to be knights. Do you know how expensive it is to buy a destrier? _For seven sons?"_

 _I had seven sons once. Good, strong boys. And four of them died. Died in such agony…_ The thought pained the former smuggler. It would be a hole in his heart that he would carry the rest of his life. It was a memory of sorrow. A memory of defeat. _My sons gave there life, and for what? To have Tywin Lannister steal away victory?_ A tear had formed in his eye as he sat in the tavern.

Martha had set before him the fish that Lord Godric had called for earlier. Davos sat there. His circumstance was grim. A man without a sense of honor or duty had him his prisoner, and would sell him out to the Queen to make his sons into knights. _The Queen…._

"The Queen rules in King's Landing?" He inquired.

"Who else?"

"Tywin Lannister's brother? Kevan?" Davos said, hoping it was not true.

"If Kevan Lannister was regent you'd be in chains." Lord Godric said. _He nurses doubts. He does not want to be on the losing side._

"My lord, I beg of you. Please take me to-"

"There is nothing there in Whiteharbour for either of us Davos Seaworth." Lord Godric said icily. "You will find that Wyman Manderly will already have bent his knee before you even reach his port. But not to your King. He will join Whiteharbour's power to that of Roose Bolton and the Freys. The Freys will arrive there in about two weeks or so with the bones of Lord Manderly's son. Wendel. They will seal the alliance with a marriage pact as his grand-daughter will wed Rhaeger Frey." _I must stop that wedding. If Stannis loses Whiteharbour his causes will be as good as finished._ It was the worst news that Davos could've heard.

"My Lord, this is why you must send me. You must send me so I can stop the wedding. So I can pull Whiteharbour out of Roose Bolton's clutches."

"Davos Seaworth, your King has been branded a traitor, a liar and a rebel. The Iron Throne wants his head, and those who help him. I would like to keep my head _on_ my shoulders, Lord Davos."

"And what if Stannis Baratheon finds victory in the war?" The Lord scoffed. But Davos continued in a more imposing tone. So far, Davos was pleading, looking as weak as the King truly was. But he knew that if he could not sway the lord with the courtesy he must intimidate him into right action. He was fully aware that Lord Godric could call his bluff and send his head to Cersei for his arrogance. But if he could succeed… "You may laugh, but Stannis Baratheon is no man to simply discard. Every man who has stood against him has perished. Joffrey, Robb, Balon, Renly, Tywin have all felt death while my King has been fighting. He is fated to win this war, the seven must know it to be true. There is no man more just, no man more worthy of service. The men who serve him have faith in their King and will fight to their bitter end, as he will. As he always has. He had held Storm's End when it seemed that its fall was inevitable, he had crushed Victarion's fleet at Fair Isle and single-handedly halted the wildling invasion with an army twenty times smaller than his enemies. Tell me my lord, can the boy King do that? Can his mother? Can Roose Bolton or his pet Freys? I think not."

"But Roose Bolton has the North at his back."

"Does he? The Northmen resent Roose Bolton and his bastard. When they learn that their true King has arrived and will liberate the North from the Bolton yoke the lords will join him. And once Roose Bolton is dead _Stannis_ will have the North, and King's Landing will quake as his armies cross the Neck and lay waste to all the Lannisters and their lapdogs." Lord Davos stood from his seat towering over Lord Godric and put his fists to the table. "And _when_ he wins and discovers that you sold me to die at one of his enemies, _he_ will name you a traitor and _you_ will lose your head. You don't want to pick to losing side." He finished in an accusatory tone. He sounded strong, confident and prideful, but he _felt_ like he was about to collapse. His lungs were shivering within his chest. Lord Godric's next word would spell out his success or his failure.

Lord Godric paused then. "What must do I?" Lord Godric asked quietly, almost silenced into submission. Davos had succeeded, and now his lungs stop shivering and he felt as strong as he spoke.

"You will chose Stannis Baratheon and you will take me to Whiteharbour."

"If the Lannisters know that…."

"I was never here, remember?"

And with that, Davos Seaworth triumphantly ate the fish the serving lady had laid out for him. Within two days, Lord Godric had a ship, _The Merry Midwife,_ ready for him and a whole crew to obey his commands. They fed him well and gave him a better change of clothes. And within the week they had set off for Whiteharbour. The sea wasn't nearly as aggressive as it was when Davos had travelled with Salladoor Saan, but the storm was always overhead…watching and looming over _The Merry Midwife._ They had arrived in Whiteharbour two days after they set off. Whiteharbour's harbour was packed to the brim with ships and activity. As he stood on the deck and felt the wind ripple lightly through his sails, he could count the masts of twenty-one warships. _To what end?_ Davos thought. Twenty-one warships would definitely be of use to King Stannis. However the warship that filled him with unease was the great wooden beast, the _Lion._ A giant Lannister vessel with three rows of oars and at its highest mast-which would was taller than the length of the mid-wife- was the standard of King Tommen Baratheon, as large as a sail. If that wasn't a clear demonstration of power, than nothing was. _Tywin may be gone, but the Lannisters aren't._ As he was looking at the busy docks with men running about, taking things off ships and loading others on his second in command, a Bravosi by the name of Roro spoke to him.

"Tser Davos" He beckoned to him with his thick Bravosi accent. "We will be landing soon. How long will we wait in Whiteharbour?"

"If things go well, I should be done by tomorrow." _But lords like to make common men wait as long as possible. It makes them feel powerful. But I too have some power. I am Hand of the King._

"And if things don't go hwell? How long?" Roro asked.

 _I may not come back at all._ Salladoor Saan's words that he said that horrible stormy night came back to him. _"_ This King will be the death of you!" _Aye, I knew that the day he took off the tips of my fingers. I swore that I would serve him and rally to his cause when he calls, I knew since the day I became a Knight. If King Stannis should fall, as will I._ "Don't wait for me." He finally said to Roro.

They had arrived at the docks in the early hours of the morning. Davos had entered the _Lazy Eel_ and remained there until the afternoon. While the food was worse than what would be served to a prisoner in a _dungeon_ the Inn had served his purpose of learning the rumors around town.

He learned that Roose Bolton and his bastard have be trying to fix the ruin of Winterfell that Theon Greyjoy had left before the arrival of Lady Stark. Sansa Stark had been hindered on the way north by the various lords that feasted her and enjoyed her company. No doubt to curry the future wardenesses favour. _If she's smart she'll try to make as many friends out of her father's banner men as possible before she meets Roose Bolton._ The marriage had stumped Davos, what was in it for the girl? She, like most northerners, hated the Boltons but she most of all must despise Roose Bolton. Why she would want to carry his heirs was beyond Davos. _There is a greater scheme at work here…_ Besides the Boltons and Sansa, he learned that Balon Greyjoy was dead and that his brothers were contesting over his throne. He heard that the city was filling with refugees from Hornwood lands and the plains surrounding the White Knife. The bastard was the lord of Hornwood now, and each day more and more people would arrive at Whiteharbour's gates begging for shelter. _Fleeing the war. Fleeing the horror. And yet here I am bringing it to them._ Apparently Robbet Glover, one of the Young Wolf's staunchest supporters, was in the city asking for aid to retake his seat, Deepwood Motte from the Ironborn. _If I should fail here, it would be good of me to ask him._ The news about Wyman Manderly was the worst out of the lot. What Lord Godric had told him at Sisterton was the truth. His own grand-daughter would wed on of Walder Frey's grand-sons to seal an alliance between them. Worse off, Davos learned that Lord Manderly had two sons. One was in the city, resting in the sept, and the other one-Wendel-was a captive of the Iron Throne. _That alone can doom Stannis' cause. Should Whiteharbour side with my King, the Lannisters will kill Wendel and Lord Wyman will be left without a son._ Davos knew what if felt like to lose a son. He couldn't even imagine what it would feel like to lose all of them. _I can hardly blame Lord Wyman if he refuses. If my son was a captive of the Lannisters…_

The truth of it was as sour in Davos' mouth as the vile wine or poison he drank out of his cup. King Stannis had the least men, the least gold, and now was on the verge of losing the last hope he had of taking the north. Whiteharbour, it seemed was as good as lost. Things had seemed so much better at Castle Black. But now, in the dirty tavern he was overwhelmed by a great feeling of disappointment and failure. King Stannis had sent a man who he thought he could trust to help his just cause, and he would receive nothing but refusal, betrayal and enemies. _I lost Salladoor Saan and Whiteharbour._ Davos looked down into the empty cup, not realising that this time he actually swallowed the wine. _I've tasted worse things in life that this wine could not even try to match. I am a poor excuse for a Hand._ And it was true. A Hand or a Knight or a maester would have a sharp tongue, quick wits and a noble birth. Davos had none of that. A hand or a Knight would've arrived with honors and prestige. He would ride into the city with his retinue and would be cocooned in steel from head to toe. The banner of his lord would be grasped proudly and men would awe at his approach. A hand or a Knight would enter a city openly and freely, he would enter wearing fine robes and dining with nobles. Davos Seaworth had come to his city, sickened by hell storms, deep dungeons, wet food, betrayal and fear. He came almost unannounced, unwelcomed with no prestige and no honor. No horse to ride in on. No men to awe at his sight. No nobles to dine with. No retinue either. _Exactly like a smuggler. I always knew I was a smuggler. I should've never thought that I was otherwise. Only a smuggler, eating shit._ He repeated to himself sullenly.

What was there left for him now? Should he leave the city and ride up the King's Road to tell Stannis that he has no friends in Whiteharbour? Should he take up smuggling again, and die as a disgraced Hand, a terrible father and criminal? Should he go back to his wife and children and desert his King? _Marya._ He remembered slightly. It had been so long since he last heard her laugh and smile. _I should've been there to tell you that we lost four of our sweet boys. I should've been there to comfort you. To grieve with you._ But he wasn't, and his poor lady wife would cry alone. That made Davos fell even worse. His mission here was practically a failure. _For what did I make that great journey for then?_

Sometimes Davos wondered why the gods decided to let an old, useless man live while they took four strong sons away from him. They would've done better for their King then him. _Perhaps it was to save Edric. Perhaps it was do help the King at Whiteharbour._ He couldn't know for sure.

Davos briefly remembered a dinner he had with Queen Selyse at Castle Black before he set off for Eastwatch. The news was just told that Davos was commanded to speak with the King's voice in Whiteharbour. Many Queen's men were there, including Ser Axell Florent and some night's watch men. The King was too busy to attend as he was busy planning his campaign along with his knights. However he insisted that his Hand be at the feast, as well as his daughter Shireen, despite the protestations of the Queen. The dinner had been going well for Davos until Ser Axell decided to tell a story. As the salmon was being served he spoke about a Targaryen prince who kept an ape as a pet. Feeling empty at the loss of his son, he dressed his pet in his son's clothes and treated the ape like a man. Sometimes he would arrange marriage proposals for his new pet the daughters of many lords in the realm. Of course the various lords respectfully declined the offer, but the point of the story, as Ser Axell put it was "Even dressed in the finest silks and sashes an ape remains and ape. A wiser prince would've known that you cannot send an ape do to a man's work" And with that the table erupted with laughter. The Queen and the Queen's men bellowed their lungs out. It was hysterical for them. _I am not an ape. I am a man. A man like any other. A Hand even._ Davos thought then as the Queen's men were laughing in his face and grinning at him. At that point he turned to Ser Axel who was as red hot as the fire. _I am a man. And a much better man then you, ser._ And Davos had left the table that night. But remembered the one person who didn't laugh. Shireen. Just thinking of the little girl's smile brought a smile to Davos' own lips.

"Ser Onion Knight." She had said softly when she found him outside. "Don't listen to him."

"He's right in a way." Davos had replied then.

"An ape, cannot be a hand of the King. Nor can he learn to read, or be as good and kind friend to me and my father. An ape didn't save my father and mother that night on Storm's End, and I know that Ser Axell didn't either. It was you. Davos Seaworth." Right at that moment Davos sprang up and took Shireen into his arms. They had shared a tight embrace.

The memory of the little girl gave Davos Seaworth a little bit of happiness he had not felt in a long time. The words were so sweet and sincere it filled Davos with some degree of joy. He _was_ a better man then Ser Axell and Salladoor Saan. And he _was not_ an ape. Ser Axell would love nothing more than to hear of the Onion Knight's failure. He would allow him no satisfaction. He would not fail his King. He would not give up. Not now. Not after losing so much. He lost his sons and his luck and almost his life, twice. He would not turn and flee now. Davos Seaworth ate the last of the bad grey pie.

 _Would Ser Axell have descended into the crashing waves in a row-boat to speak to Lord Wyman?_ He thought as he tightened the belt that held his sword. _Could an ape have done that?_ Davos told himself as he mustered his confidence. _Could an ape be named Hand? Could an ape speak at the court of another lord? Give council? Take council and die for his King if need be? Could Ser Axell do that? Could Salladoor Saan?_ No. Davos was not prideful man at heart, but he knew that he was made of better stuff than both those men.

 _Arise Davos Seaworth._ He said to himself, mimicking the words Stannis Baratheon had said to him when he was named a Hand. He stood from the table and walked out of the Inn.

As he walked up the street and towards the palace of the Merman's court he spoke to the guard at the gate. "I am the Hand of the King, and I must speak with Lord Wyman Manderly. Alone."

"Hand of the King?" The guard said puzzled. "Fock off. If you're the hand of the King I'm Baelor the Blessed."

"I am the Hand to King Stannis Baratheon." The name sparked the guard into action. Within moments the gate opened and he walked into the palace, ready to speak with the King's voice.


End file.
